


When The Sky Goes Dark

by ina_j



Series: When The Sky Goes Dark [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Slender Man Mythos
Genre: Child Death, Dark, Horror, Kid!John, M/M, Magic Realism, One-Sided Relationship, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-01
Updated: 2015-01-03
Packaged: 2017-11-06 13:08:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 24,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/419274
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ina_j/pseuds/ina_j
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John meets a friend when he was small, but he didn't know that his friend was one dangerous being that would haunt him for a long time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mr.T

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fic for this fandom, and is inspired by Tashilover's Not There. If you haven't read it, I definitely recommend it; it's an amazing story.  
> This story is as yet unbeta'd. Please tell me if you find any mistakes; concrit is always welcome.

It was just a scratch, he remembered.

 

Harry was messing around with him again, hiding his teddy bear that Nana had given him for his sixth birthday. She hated it because she lost hers in the park when she was playing. John hated her for taking Mr. Huggles, so he confronted her but ended up getting a scratch on his arm from Harry’s nails. Mom was telling how awful Harry has been to John, and how she should never ever do that again to her little baby brother. John knew the tears that Harry had on her cheeks where fake. She always did that. Pretend that she was sorry and would never do it again; it always did.

 

John was looking for Mr. Huggles. He was looking desperately around the house; he needed him because it always made John feel safe, especially when he needed to sleep. But it was hopeless. The bear must have been buried or something, because it was nowhere to be found.

 

That was when John heard a small cracking sound. He was in Harry’s room, finishing checking under her bead. The sound was very small, but John heard it coming from outside the room. He stands up from the place where he was crouching down and stared at the room. He didn’t know why he thought there was something about that sound; the house where the Watson lived was old and has always made small sounds like the wind hitting the window, the wooden door and other things such as the sound of someone moving around the house. It is amazing how the small footsteps of Harry and John could produce noises big enough that will make the windows clatter.

 

John though it was Harry coming back to her room after the lecture her mother gave her, but that thought was quickly dismissed when he heard Harry’s voice of protest from the back yard. It was different, this sound he heard. It was different in the sense of, wrongness.

 

He wasn’t supposed look at the door, because he knew it was wrong. He knew he shouldn’t have noticed this “sound” he heard.

 

John didn’t know what the feeling he was getting from the source of the sound; but it was far from the warm, safe and bright existence of his family and home. The door was not fully shut; there was a small space that had a dim light from the corridor which linked to his room and his parent’s room.

 

There was only silence.

 

Nothing was moving and just then he noticed that there were no birds singing; they always sung beautifully when they stopped on the tree in the back yard.

 

It was then when John saw the slender long fingers slowly hold the side of the door. The hand was set on the very high place and slowly curled the fingers to hold the frame; it pushed the door open with a heavy motion. John knew what he should have felt the moment he saw a hand; a ghostly white hand on the highest point of the door that certainly belonged to someone taller than his parents. But he was more curious to what the thing behind the door. The door opened fully, making the creaking sound of the old wood that it was made out of.

 

It was a man who was standing there. A man dressed in a black suit.

He had the longest arms John had ever seen, and also very tall. Taller than his mother who could reach the cookie jar. Taller than Mr. Hank the neighbour fireman. Taller than his father who went into the army and return a hero.

He was tall enough that he had to slightly crouch so he doesn’t hit his head on the sealing. That was however, not what made John’s little blue eye go wide.

 

 

The pale tall man had no face. It was blank.

 

 

John should have felt fear; the boy knows that much.

 

The man slowly cocked his head. It looked like he was studying John somehow.

John wondered whether the man could see even though he didn’t have any eyes. For some reason, John did the same and cocked his head.

The man didn’t move for what it seemed to be a long while. He then slowly cocked his head to the other side, which John repeated the action.

There was silence in the room.

 

John forgot the fact that he didn’t hear anything at all; not even the sound of the wind hitting the window or the sound of his mother talking to Harry, or Harry running around the house.

 

There was just silence.

 

 

But John was so fascinated by the man in front of him that he forgot the world. It was amazing to see something so out of ordinary, something that seems out of place from the world. John smiled at the man who was still studying (or it seemed as if studying) him. The man, after a minute, slightly raised his long arms and ghosted his long fingers all around John’s face. John didn’t move or flinch. The fingers where longer than it looked when it pushed open the door. The fingers then stopped on John’s little lips, slightly touching it with the man’s fingertip. John didn’t know what made him smile, but it was for sure not the fear he was supposed to feel. The man cocked his head slowly again, and this time John decided not to mirror him.

 

“Hi, I’m John”

 

He said it in a whisper, still feeling the slight touch of the man’s fingertips on his lips. The man didn’t reply but John didn’t expect anything; after all, he didn’t have a mouth. John just smiled more when the man removed his hand slowly.

 

“I was looking for Mr. Huggles. Have you seen him by any chance? Harry says I’m too old for Teddy Bears, but Mr. Huggles is really important to me. I still like to have him next to me when I sleep”

 

John whispered to the tall man as if he was telling him his secret. The man stood there for a moment, and suddenly there was something dropping behind John.

A little startled, John turned around to see what it was there; it was Mr. Huggles. He quickly went to pick it up; it was a little strange since he had been searching the room for a while and it was definitely not there when he last checked. But for some reason, John knew that this tall man has managed to find it for him. Somehow. John turned around to the tall man who was still looking at John; he cocked his head to the other side again. John feeling happy that he was able to find Mr. Huggles, smiled at the tall man.

“You found him! Thank you”

 

The man gave a slight movement of his head, something that looked like a nod. John sat down on the bed, and looked at the man with excitement.

 

“So, are you here to see mom? Are you a friend of hers? Or are you here to see Da?”

 

The man didn’t react to the question John have asked, but instead moved slightly towards him and touched Mr. Huggles with his long fingers. Happy that he finally got Mr. Huggles, John picked it up from his lap and showed it to the man.

 

“This is Mr. Huggles. My Nana got it for me when I was six for my birthday present. He knows all my secrets and we play doctor together when Harry doesn’t want to play with me”

 

With that, John stretched his arm to hand over the bear, and the man hold it in his hands. It seems that the man was examining the bear with his non-existing eyes.

 

“He is very kind you know! He likes to eat snacks with me and sometimes we watch a movie on the telly together. He is my best mate and I think he would like you too.”

 

John smiled at the man who was still looking at the bear. John cocked his head and beamed.

 

“Would you like to be our friend?”

 

The man slowly looked down at the innocent child, who was excited with his own idea.

 

“I would call you Mr.T because you're really tall! You can call me John but I don’t know if you can speak”

 

John looked at the tall man who had not given any reaction to John what so ever. John opened his mouth to ask the man- _Mr.T_ \- if he would like to stay for dinner, but it was cut off by the sudden movement of his hand that stopped John to say anything. The tall man has brought his long fingers near the scratch that Harry has given him. It was red, but not bleeding. John looked at it and frowned.

 

“Harry was playing mean. When I asked her where she put Mr. Huggles, she said she didn’t know. I knew she had it somewhere, and when I asked she scratched me”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_BANG._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 John quickly turned to see the source of the sound; there was a red splatter on the window. What could it possibly be? Did Harry through a tomato? No, she wouldn’t do that to her own window.

John approached the red thing on the window, and soon discovered there was a feather stuck to the goo. It was blood.

He realized that a bird have hit the window, and died. This never happened before and he was very scared to think that a bird died just by hitting the head. He turned to the man, but there was an empty room.

He went to the corridor to look around if the man has left the room, but there was no one.

 

Confused, John decided to go down stairs and tell his mother that there is blood on Harry’s window.

 

But there was a scream; when he went down stairs, Harry was holding Twiggy. Her pet canary that now had a broken neck and not breathing.

 

 


	2. The Warning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They were being mean to him and Harry but he couldn't do anything about it. That doesn't mean they get off the hook.

 

It wasn’t until the next week that John saw the man again.

John was playing outside with Harry; the water gun war was their favourite thing to do when it was sunny like that day. He just looked up his room because he felt someone was there. There was; the tall man was standing near the window, looking down at where John was.

It was creepy, knowing that somebody was in his room, but John just thought he came to visit someone again. He smiled at the man and waved at him.

 

“Who are you waving at?”

 

Harry came to him, looking at the window.

 

“Mr.T! He came to visit again”

 

Harry looked at John with a confused gaze, and looked back to the window. She didn’t see anything.

 

“There isn’t anyone there, Johnny”

 

It was John this time who got confused; what does she mean there is no one? John looked back at the window, and Mr.T was still there.

 

“He is there, in front of my window. Can’t you see him?”

 

Harry, looking back once again at the window and snorted at John. She held the water gun and sprayed at his T-shirt.

 

“Is this one of your imaginary friends again Johnny? You know how mom gets worried when you start talking about them”

 

“He is not my imaginary friend! Look! He is there, standing in front of my window!”

 

John pointed at the tall man who was still standing there, doing nothing. Frowning to her brother, Harry opened her mouth to say something when something hit her face.

 

“Aw!”

 

Harry fell to the ground and the ball bounced off to the side. John got down worried of his sister who was holding her face with her little hands.

 

“You got on the way you stupid girl”

 

A group of older boys came to get their ball, but instead they have decided to pick on Harry for being hit on her face. One of them pushed her with his feet.

 

“Honestly, are you blind or something? Or are you just so ugly that you can’t wait to get your face a change?”

 

They started to laugh at her, but she couldn’t yet move from the ground.

 

“Don’t talk to her like that!”

 

John pushed the boy, and that’s how the fight started.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was messy and violent. John ended up getting several stiches on his knee and several small cuts on his face and other places in his body. Harry had also gotten herself some cuts around her body when she joined in the fight against the group. Mom took them to the clinic and got everything patch up, but they still got the talk of fighting is not the answer. Especially if they are outnumbered by older boys who looks stronger than they are; she didn’t want anything to happen to her babies.

 

After dinner, John was lying on his bed, holding Mr. Huggles tight and fighting his tears. He was still angry about the boys.

How could anyone be so horrible to his sister? She was indeed mean sometimes, but she Harry who deep inside is one of the people who cares about others. There were several times when they got into a fight, but John knew that his big sister would not harm him to the extent that he would hurt for a long time and that also goes to John. She would protect her little brother from others who would try to hurt him, and John would also do the same.

So he wasn’t happy at all that the boys run away before Mom got to the scene and find out whom they were and told their parents how awful they were.

 

John was getting sleepy when he heard the door crack. He looked with his half lidded eyes what it was going on; there was the familiar long fingers curling around the door. John didn’t notice there was a silence on the air which somehow also became cold.

 

He blinked once, and the tall man was standing next to John.

 

“Hi Mr.T”

 

John mumble to Mr. Huggles to hide his startle, but looked up at the tall man. How can a person move so fast from one place to another? But again, he was sleepy so maybe he was dreaming.

The tall man cocked his head in the same manner as before. John wasn’t in the mood to talk to anyone, so he was silent. But for some reason, the man gave some sort of safeness and feeling that John didn’t have to worry about anything. Slowly, John started sobbing on to Mr. Huggles. Embarrassed about the tears, he hid his face into Mr. Huggles. Boys weren’t supposed to cry, Da told him so. Boys were supposed to be strong and protect their loved ones. John wasn’t going to cry now, but he couldn’t stop it.

 

John felt a touch on his head; it was cold unlike the warm soft fingers of his mother, but comforting never the less. John couldn’t stop it now, and started to sniff.

 

“They were s-so m-mean Mr.t-T. They were so mean to h-Harry. They hit her so b-bad on her face, and I couldn’t pro-protect h-her”

 

The hiccups started to come out, and John hugged Mr. Huggles even tighter. He felt safe to be with his two friends.

 

“I n-needed to protect her and I-I-I couldn’t. It is what you su-supposed to do right? Protect your loved ones. A-a-and I couldn’t do it”

 

At the end of his sentence, all his feelings started to pour out, and John couldn’t resist the sad cry.

The tall man had his hand still on John. It wasn’t moving, but John couldn’t ask for more nor did he know what to say about it. The man however, soon took his hands off John’s head, and slightly ghosted over the cut on his cheeks that was now covered with tears. John was going to look at the man but there was a loud crack.

 

Startled, John looked up, but there was no one there. Confused, he looked around again, but instead of the tall man John found the window with a crack coming from the top of the window down to the end. John wonders what has caused the crack; he didn’t know that but he knew his Mom would be furious though.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John woke up the next day with a tiny shiver through his left chest. He felt a little dizzy but he thought it was because he suddenly woke up. He went down stairs to get his breakfast. Both of his parents were already there having their morning tea watching the news.

 

“How awful”

 

His mother said to his father who just nodded.

 

“Morning”

 

John sat on the table to get his cereal and eat and looked at what his parents were watching. It was the news and John wasn’t very interested yet. He started to eat when he heard Harry gasp.

 

 

“Oh my god! Look Johnny! It’s them!”

 

 

John turned to the telly again. He was still chewing his cereal in his mouth when he saw the boys who they fought the day before. He stopped the movement of his mouth and stared at the screen. Could it be?

 

The woman on the telly said that they were attacked yesterday when they were coming home from a friend’s house. Apparently, they were slaughtered by someone when they were each trying to get home with their mothers. From what they have gathered, the mothers were either opening the door or getting some things off the car and when they turned to see their sons they were already dead. The story where the same; they looked at something else for a second and when they turn back to the boys they were already attacked. They didn’t hear anything; no scream, no cry for help, nothing. The women on the news turned to one of the mother who was sobbing to the camera explaining that she didn’t know what had happened to her little boy.

 

“Oh dear. This is horrible! And it happened just around the corner!”

 

 John’s mother covered her mouth with her hand in horror, and his father hold her shoulder.

 

“Mom! They are the guys! They are the boys that hurt me and Johnny!”

 

Harry just shouted at the telly, holding her own arm.

 

“You two better stay home and not go out late. I don’t want anything happening to you two. No more playing outside after four, do you understand me? ”

 

John looked at his father’s serious face and nodded. He was a little scared to know that this had happened near his house, but was also horrified to the knowledge that it could have been him or Harry. They were fighting with the boys yesterday and now they are all gone.

His father switched the channel to another programme. It was years after that John heard the boys’ neck were cracked into the opposite directions.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

After that news everybody was cautious in the neighbourhood. Children would not be outside after dark and everybody have started to put extra lock on their doors and windows. They have even started to form a patrol groups going around checking. John was not complaining the lack of outdoors now because the last thing he wanted was Harry being hurt. He stayed home after four reading books by himself or sometimes playing with Harry. He didn’t see the tall man for another three days.

 

It was when he was outside again at around noon. He was going to start school again in a few days and wanted to have fun as much as possible, so he was outside. Harry was there as well but she was with her friend Lindsey. Their Mom allowed them to stay outside until four and when they were not alone so John didn’t complain, but he wasn’t going to stay talking with the girls because they would start talking about something he didn’t understand; something like how ugly one of the girl in their class is or how weird their teachers were. He was skipping the rope when he suddenly felt a shiver. He stopped skipping, and looked around. For some reason he felt there was someone looking at him and that got him a little scared. Is it the person who attacked to boys? But then he looked up to his window when he saw something in the corner of his eyes. It was the tall man there again. He was standing in the same place where he was before. John smiled at the man and waved; Mr.T must have come to visit them again. It was a little weird that neither his Mom nor his Da told him that their friend was coming, but it was Mr.T and John really liked him.

 

It was then when someone grabbed his waving hand. Startled, John looked back and there was an old woman standing behind him.

 

“Child, are you waving at the man in front of the window”

 

It sounded like a question, but it also sounded like she was just saying what she saw. Confused, John nodded and added that it was Mr.T.

 

“He comes around sometimes. He’s my friend.”

 

 

He was scared of the old woman; he has never seen her around before but she looked old and seems to be living around the neighbourhood for a long time.

 

“That thing is no such to you dear child. Has anything awful happened after seen that creature?”

 

The woman never looked up at the tall man, but John knew that she saw him even though her eyes never left John’s.

 

“Anything at all? Animals dying? People getting hurt?”

 

John was not sure what she was trying to say, but for some reason he told her about Twiggy and the boys who hurt him.

She looked at John for a while, and took her hand off his arm. John was not sure what to do now. She didn’t seem like someone who could do harm like to the boys on the news. She was very old with her white hair, grey blanket around her shoulders and a dark dress underneath. Her eyes however, were the brightest green John had ever seen.

 

“Listen carefully child. The thing that you think is your friend is not what you think it is. He is a creature that will harm you and the one you loved the most. I don’t know why he hasn’t taken you away after marking you as his pray, but that does not mean that he won’t do it.”

 

The woman digs something out of her bag, and handed to John.   
  


“I can’t banish him right now, but you must hold this at all time. It will protect you when you need it the most. Do you understand me? Do not leave it, you must hold it with you at all times. And never ever let him take you away, no matter what he does. Understood?”

 

The only thing that John could do was to nod to the old woman. He didn’t know why she was telling him this, but he holds tight what she had given him because the gaze that the woman was giving John had the power to make John feel fear. The woman nod once, and walked away not once glancing up to the window. John watched her leave the street, and looked down at his hand once she was out of his sight. It was a small blue crystal rock with a black thin rope going through it; a pendant.

 

He looked up at his window, but there was no one there.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trying to move the story a little more quickly, but I guess this is the fastest it can go with out making it look weird...hope you guys enjoy it! Please do tell if you find any error so I can fix it :) thanks!


	3. A Life for a Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the first time that John felt fear towards his friend.

 

School had started and it was boring. It was nice to see his friends and all, but it was still school and John was ready for another holiday. The funny thing though, is that John was seeing the tall man more frequently than before.

 

He wasn’t sure when he was coming in or leaving, but when John returned from school he was always standing in John’s room looking down from the window. John would wave at him, but he would always get caught by Harry who always tells him to stop talking to his imaginary friend, and when he looked back up the tall man is always gone. The man sometimes was in his room when John was getting ready to sleep; every time when John was not looking he was always in the spot that John knew the man wasn’t a moment ago. When he was there, John would talk to the man about his day; how it was fun to play with his friends, what he learned today, and sometimes about the things that bothered him.

 

It was funny that every time John mentioned somebody being mean to him, they were always hurt the next day. They were either in an accident the previous day after school or having an accident in the class room like David cutting his finger off with the scissors. John thought it was probably why you shouldn’t do bad things; bad things happen to you when you do something bad.

 

He would sometimes see the tall man in school as well, but always in the corner of his eyes. John thought that he was imagining things now; why would Mr.T be at his school anyways? John decided that he was just mistaking the tall man with something else because every time he turns to see, there was no one standing there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was during break when Abigail Barker came to talk to him. John hadn’t talk to her since before the holiday and she came back late from a family trip. She had the loveliest red hair that reminded John of the sunset he saw during the summer. She was very pretty with her freckles and green eyes.

 

“John, how was your holiday?”

 

“It was good. I played with Harry most of the time though”

 

“Yeah, I was with my brother and sister as well. It’s sad that we couldn’t hang out together, you live so far away!”

 

She giggled and it sounded very pleasant. She sat down next to John and started talking about how her brother got a new car and it looked cool. They were giggling together sharing stories when one of the girls on the corner of the room started singing.

 

“Abigail and John sitting in a tree, _K-I-S-S-I-N-G!_ ”

 

The other kids in the room started singing along, and Abigail started to flush red and tears started to merge from her eyes.

 

“Cut it out Maggie!”                      

 

John cried out, being a little flush himself. Maggie however didn’t stop and started to sing even louder.

 

“First comes love, than come marriage, than came Johnny with a baby carriage!”

 

“Aw! How sweet! Abigail and her boyfriend having a baby! They would be gingers wouldn’t they? Maybe with your ugly freckles as well!”

They all giggle, and Abigail run out of the class room. Maggie was still laughing hard and pointing at Abigail saying what a baby she was. John decided to follow her. Abigail was a nice girl and his friend; naturally he wanted to comfort her. Walking down the corridor, John was wondering if Abigail was okay. He, however, found something else.

 

 

 

 

 

 

He was looking out the window wondering if she went out to the playground where there was a big tree they both like to climb. She was indeed there but not alone; the tall man was standing in front of little Abigail who was curled into a ball sitting and sobbing her eyes.

 

John was confused in why Mr.T was in his school, but he soon realized that the temperature had dropped dramatically to the point that John was shivering. It was perfectly fine a moment ago, and John couldn’t wonder if a storm was coming. He was going to come closer to both of them, but soon stopped to the sight he saw. The leaves on the tree and the grass around it were dying; they were turning brown and dry. The squirrel on the tree dropped dead, becoming decomposed in an instant when it hit the ground. The wind was blowing everything away, and in an instant the playground looked like a grave yard. John suddenly felt fear building up in his body and started to shiver even harder; the cold air did not help.

 

The children that where playing around didn’t seem to notice, which made the whole thing even more _wrong_. John wanted to cry out to Abigail, but he felt his throat tightening every time he wanted to speak. It didn’t help when he saw something growing out of Mr.T; it was several arms and they were all cocooning Abigail like a spider trying to get its prey. John’s little legs were shaking, and he couldn’t move from the place, but the tall man didn’t wait. It was holding Abigail with all its hands and draining her from something that John didn’t know what. The only thing he knew was that it was killing her; he could see from his place that her veins on her skin were becoming bluer and her skin was paling at the same time when the tree behind her was becoming drier and drier. John gasped and shouted her name with all his strength that remained.

 

“Abby!”

 

The hands on Abigail flinched, and the tall man slowly turned its head towards John. It was so slow that John somehow was sure he heard the screeching sound similar to a rusty metal. For the first time John felt fear towards his tall friend. It was something that he knew he should have felt long ago but never quite understood. He blink when a strong cold wind hit him and when he opened his eyes, the tall man was gone.

 

Abigail was sitting in the same position looking at John with a confused gaze. He quickly scanned the place, but there were only the small children playing around. John looked at Abby to see if she was alright but soon his sight caught somebody standing in the opposite pavement. It was the old woman, looking at John and Abby; she was the same as the last time he saw her. But when John was uncertain of what to do, he heard a loud pitch scream from the corner of the school building. Everybody stopped in the spot and looked towards the direction. Mrs.Green has come running towards the playground telling the children to get inside. Abby and John quickly got in.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

They were sent home early that day not knowing what exactly happened. But one of the girls was crying that Maggie was nowhere to be found. It wasn’t until the next day that the news covered the death of Margaret Smith; Harry told him that they found her dead in the corner of the building and when they examined her, all of the organs were taken out and put back in her body after it was put in a plastic bag.

 

John shivered at the image of Maggie dead, and he couldn’t sleep well for a while by having nightmares of what he has seen at the playground. Did Mr.T have something to do with Maggie’s death? Was the old woman right when she said that Mr.T was not his friend and John had to worried about him hurting everybody? What could he do?

 

 

 

John was on his bed holding Mr.Huggles when the air went cold. He was scared because this meant only one thing. He quickly hid himself under the covers and hold tight to his bear.

There was a screaking sound of the door slowly opening. His heart was pounding loud and fast. He wanted it to stop so he could not make a single noise or movement. There was a cracking sound of the wood around the room and John shut his eyes tighter and wished everything went away. He felt the end of his bed sunk; somebody was sitting at the end. Minutes felt like hours and it felt like the oxygen was taken away from him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“John, sweety?”

 

 

 

 

 

 

His mother’s voice whispered his name, and John opened his eyes. It was only his mother coming in to his room. She probably wanted to talk to him about the incident at school. He relaxed and took off the cover off his head.

 

“Ma..”

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

He halts his words.

 

 

 

 

 

It wasn’t his mother sitting at the end of the bed; it was Mr.T.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John’s heart stopped and then made a loud skip; he felt the cold breeze surrounding him. He couldn’t look away nor couldn’t he move. He felt the blood running faster than ever through his veins and he couldn’t breathe properly. The tall man’s head was hunched down and the expressionless face was examining John.

 

The only thing he could do was to breathe but even the simplest thing as that was painful. The room seemed to be eaten up by the darkness that the creature was carrying. John tried to stop his mouth to quiver, but he couldn’t stop his curiosity.

 

“W-was it you that hurt Maggie?”

 

The whisper echoed through the darkness, and John flinched by his own voice. The man cocked his head slowly to the side, but John knew this gesture was not to answer his question nor it was a denial. It was simply reading John and that was the most frightening thing he had ever faced. John trembled from fear.

 

The tall man slowly brought up its head and reached the little boy with its long arm. John saw the man’s blank face braking into half, creating something that resembled as a mouth with sharp teeth; both of the ends of the mouth was up high and it gave the impression of a smile. The hand covered his sight and John heard a whisper that seemed to echo from all around him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_“John”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Everything went black.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The next time he opened his eyes, John was in the middle of a playground. It was dark and cold; he didn’t know where he was and it was terrifying. He looked around to see if anybody was there; nothing. The small child tremble in fear, he just wanted his mother and father. He run as fast as he can to the nearest exist he saw, hoping that he could get help and go home.

 

When he reached the exit, however, John bumped into another person. Startled and fear that is the tall man, John soon screams and try to run away from the hands that was holding him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Shh, child! It’s alright. It’s me, you’re safe”

 

 

 

 

John couldn’t stop the tears running down his cheeks but when he looked up, he stopped fighting. It was the old woman standing there with a worried look, and John’s legs gave out. He couldn’t move, but the old women had crouched down and hold him.

 

“Shh, Shh. You are alright. The creature is gone for now. You are safe”

 

“W-w-where’e g-go? W-was he g-n-g-going to kill me?”

 

The woman tried to sooth John by rubbing his back, but the tears wouldn’t stop falling.

 

“He will not be able to touch you I assure it.”

 

She looked at John to check his expression, but resumed with rubbing his back.

 

“I don’t know what he wanted from you, but I am sure that he wanted to take you away”

 

John tried to hold his sobs but failed and tugged himself to the woman.

 

“I want to go home”

 

“I know, but before that you have to promise me to remember something”

 

John looked up at the bright green eyes that didn’t match the old woman’s façade.

 

“You have to remember that this was a bad dream. You have to remember that…that man was trying to kidnap you. And you have to remember that he was a bad man. Do you understand me?”

 

“But he had…he had those things, he was doing something to Abby!”

 

“Hush. He didn’t. You saw a man who tried to kidnap you and your friend. That’s all. Do you understand me?”

 

John didn’t know what to do, but he nodded. He just wanted to go home.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There were police officers and firemen when John returned home. Everybody from the neighbourhood was there and they were all looking at the house on fire. The flames were dancing around it and spouting itself from the windows just like the dragon on the movie he went to watch with his father did. The fire danced around the garden and it gave the impression to John that it was laughing at them all; “I am taking it all” it said, and there was nothing John could do.

 

“A life for a life”

 

The woman whispered. He looked up at her but she was looking at his house that was now red and bright.

 

“John!”

 

His mother came running when she saw him; she had a bright neon orange blanket around her shoulders and she had ashes smeared all over her beautiful face. She hugged and holds him tight in her arms. John hold her back, promising to himself to never again let her go.

 

“Oh thank God! I thought you were still in there. Oh darling! Oh my baby!”

 

“He was in the park with a man”

 

The old woman interjected. John’s mother looked up at her, and turned to John with a questioning gaze. John didn’t know what to say, so he repeated what the woman told him in the park.

 

“There was a bad man, Mom. He was trying to take Abby away in the school, but then he came after me”

 

He wasn’t lying; it was true that Mr.T-the tall man- was trying to get him. His mother’s face was now filled with terror and she holds him again.

 

“I was taking my night walk as always and when I came across the park he runaway”

 

The woman continued. John’s mother thanks her for returning her child to her, and soon the paramedics and the police came to check on the situation. John turned to see at the old woman; she nodded at him and turned to the other direction and walked away. That was the last time he ever saw her.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Okay little man. How are you feeling? Are you alright?”

 

The paramedic woman asked him kindly while the police was asking questions to his mother. He looked around to check if all of his family was safe. He saw Harry holding her father’s arm, sobbing her eyes out.

 

“Hey, hey. John? Look at me. Are you feeling alright?”

 

The woman holds his face tenderly, examining his expression. John nodded but soon he felt a sting on his chest.

“My chest hurts.”

 

The woman gently took off his pyjama top, but when she saw his chest she frowned.

 

“Did you have this scar before?”

 

She smiled and asked gently, but John knew there was something in her eyes that told him there was something wrong with it. He looked down at his chest and there was a scar that was in a shape of a cross within a circle, but the scar itself looks as if it was old; it looked like John burned himself a long time ago. He didn’t recognize it.

 

 

 

“That can’t be true!”

 

 

He turned to his father screaming at the fireman. He was holding his hair, looking confused and in shock. His mother was holding her mouth with one hand while holding Harry with the other. His father paced a little and looked at the house and then to the fireman. He looked as if he was trying to understand what was going on. He couldn’t hold his trembling voice.

 

 

“That can’t be right! She was out of the house today! She has gone to see her friend in _Oxford!_ She couldn’t have been home!”

 

 

His father collapsed to the floor while the fireman tried to hold him, he was shaking and John heard him scream in agony.

 

 

“She can’t be there! She left this evening to _OXFORD!_ She can’t be dead! No! _NO!_ ”

 

 

 

 

 

It clicked inside John now. The woman had said it was life for a life and his father was talking about his dear mother.

 

 

 

 

 

Nana was dead.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So things kind of moved faster than I though and Sherlock comes up next chapter. A little scared to write him.. Hope it doesn't come out too OCCish. Anyways, just wanted to say that the tags of this story may change in the future (maybe MAAYBE Mpreg? maybe not?) and also I just wanted to say thank you for reading this :)


	4. Salvation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the corner of his eyes he could see something creeping in; it took him several moments to notice it was a pale white hand with long and slender fingers.

John pretended to have forgotten all about Mr.T after several years. His family moved away from the neighbourhood where Nana died; staying there was not doing any good to anyone, especially his father. John knew that telling anyone about the man was no good or no use at all.

 

His father started drinking and his mother started to detach herself from the family. She was a wonderful woman but she couldn’t bear to see the man she loved destroy himself and John understood that. He understood the pain to look at the one you love change so quickly without hesitation over the past few years. There was no resemblance of the man he once used to be; the man who fought for Queen and Country, the man who loved his family the most, the man who worked hard to protect everyone from anything that harmed them was gone and there was instead a man who filled himself with everything that his father used to hate. There was always a bottle of something in his hand while the other one hurt his wife and children. It was painful to watch, painful to be home. So John didn’t blame his mother to file for divorce, to try and escape from the violence and sorrow that surrounded the once called home.

 

It was indeed hard to get to the point of separation. John and Harry would hide away in their rooms where they try and block the noises; the yelling and the sound of things in the house braking was hard to escape but they hold to each other tight and tried to talk about something else. It was not until John and Harry were thirteen that their parents decided enough was enough.

 

Their mother took them with her to live in a small house where John and Harry had to share their bed room. It wasn’t a problem because Harry was often not there; she started to act out and stayed late with her friends and sometimes with her girlfriend. John imagines one of the reasons of his mother not excepting his sister’s sexuality was because of these acts. It was hard to listen to what she used to say about his sister and it was harder to know that even after many years to come, she never truly acknowledge any of the girlfriends that Harry brought home; that also included Harry’s wife Clara. She died when John was still in the army and it pained John to know that Harry and his mother truly never forgave each other.

 

John joined the army because he wanted to be a military man like his father used to be. He wanted to become that man who was his hero; the man with the ability to be strong and to protect. He wanted to have adventures like his father; he wanted to fight for something he loved. He knew, however, that while being strong there was also the importance to heal. Since a young age, he wanted to protect Harry from any bullies but he also wanted the ability to heal her injury; to cure anything that was caused by the violence she had to face. That is how John decided to become an army doctor.

 

John always exchanged emails with his sister and occasionally his mother during his army days. The emails normally contained details of what has being happening to their life after he left (which John has to admit nothing much except for Harry starting drinking heavily like their father). It was during a cold night in Afghanistan when he heard of his mother’s death; it was his Aunt Lucia that sent him about the details of the funeral and the condolences. He hasn’t seen his mother since the Christmas he spent with both her and Harry six years previously; the thought that he couldn’t see her anymore was devastating. It was also the day John killed a man for the first time.

 

After everything back home broke down to pieces, John knew that the only place he belong was in the war zone. He found it ironic to think how the war made him feel safe. He never truly forgot about the tall man who caused the destruction of his family but he also didn’t want to remember anything because it was unbearable. John knew that the man- _the creature_ \- itself was more frightening than the war he was facing. It has being more than thirty years and the memories of the creature were becoming more vivid every single day. John soon started to dream of the day the creature actually said his name, waking him up with a pain on the scar that was placed above his heart. He knew that it was only a reaction to his mother’s death but it killing him slowly.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The sun was burning his skin and the sand that was lifted up by the strong wind was hurting his eyes. John was desperately trying to save life in the battle field; he was running towards the injured fellow soldiers when he saw a black shadow in the corner of his eyes. He quickly turned to see who was there but there was only a small shelter where all the residents have evaluated. The door was broken and there was no light in the house. The men behind him went inside the shelter, telling John to go forward and bring the survivors back to this empty shelter for safety; John did.

 

He was carrying Ted Phillips on his back; he was bleeding out from his thigh due to a gun shot. John run through the chaotic field as fast as he was able to and put him down once he reached the shelter. He looked around to see if anybody was there but there was not a single man. Taking out all his equipment that he had he started to stich up the wound as best as he could. After a brief check on his condition John took out his radio and call for aid; Ted was out cold and he needed more care.

 

When he finished his communication he heard a sound from the next door.

Aiming his gun towards the source of the sound, John stood up; there was only silence in the room. John was breathing hard both from running and from the anticipation of a gun fire. He was worried about Ted who was still unconscious and dying; he had to get him out of here.

John was trying to hold his breath, slowly moving towards the next room. It was dark with only a slight glimpse of light coming out of the cracked wooden planks that was nailed to shield the window. That was the only reason John could see the shadow of somebody inside the other room.

 

 

“I’m a doctor!”

 

John shouted towards the room. Nothing.

 

He didn’t want to injure any civilians if he could but he couldn’t take a risk. John moved towards the entrance of the room but soon stopped.

The air was colder and John shivered.

He couldn’t stop thinking of what this sudden drop of temperature reminded him; he tried to shake it off.

 

It can’t be.

 

It can’t be after so long.

 

She said he wouldn’t be able to come to him.

She told him he wasn’t able to hurt him anymore.

 

John’s breath quickened and his hands that were holding the gun started to shake. He was moving back from the room, trying to escape from his fear.

The air suddenly change and he felt a chill running through his back; there was somebody behind him.

 

It can’t be Ted because he was still unconscious and it couldn’t be his fellow army man because they would have said something. Shaken from fear, John couldn’t stop noticing how he felt becoming detached from the whole world; the sound of the battle outside was fading and soon the shelter was surrounded by silence.

 

 

“It can’t be…”

 

 

John heard his voice echoed through the darkness; he couldn’t turn back to see what was standing behind him.

 

 

 

There was the sound of something breathing behind him and John couldn’t stop feeling the presence of it. He shut his eyes praying to escape.

 

 

 

 

It was then when a Middle Eastern man abruptly came in, shouting something that John didn’t understand; he pointed the gun at John and shot him right through his shoulder. John fell to the hard ground and he felt his blood spilling out from his shoulder. He knew the man who shot him was saying something but everything was blurred. He could hear himself breathing and he could identify the man standing in front of him. It was then when he saw a black figure standing behind the man and John could have sworn that the face parted into two; it was smiling. While the world surrounding him was fading away, the only thing John could do was to pray.

 

 

 

_“Please God, let me live”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John woke up in the medical tent along with the other injured soldiers. He was in an agonizing pain from his shot but he was alive. They have informed him that Ted was also recovering well despite the blood loss. John was later informed that they have also found the man who shot him demolished into bits and pieces. They believe he had committed suicide with an explosive but other than that it was hard to identify anything from the scene.

In the tent that kept over twenty injured man, John couldn’t breathe. It wasn’t only because of the heated moisture and air of defeat among the men, or the pain of his shoulder that felt as if he was being split into two; it was the alarm that was off in his head.

 

_DANGER. DANGER. MUST ESCAPE. MUST GET AWAY._

 

John knew that, although it was manifestation created by his mind due to the heat and stress, it still felt real and the only thing John wanted was to get away as far as possible. He knew that the more he spent sleeping the more the memory became vivid. The image of _it_ hanging back in his mind and John started to become paranoid.

Every time he saw a black shadow in the corner of his eyes the panic rouse and his breathing quickened; the moment he looked to see it was something entire different; most of the time it was another soldier or a chair. It did not, however, help him to know. He could feel his body weakening the moment his eyes would catch something and John would stay frozen in that spot until somebody will come to check whether he was fine. Everybody thought it was the shock but John couldn’t explain it to anybody that he wasn’t afraid of being shot at, he was more afraid of a _thing_ that lived within the cold darkness.

 

 

It was however, still agonizing to become discharged from a place where he felt he belonged. John knew that the moment he stepped the English soil, his life has shattered into small crumbles that was now unrepeatable. There was nothing left for him in this world, only boredom. He didn’t see anything that resembled as the creature and soon John started to think it was perhaps a figment of his memory and imagination. The woman did say that it was not able to hurt him or touch him so John thought the death of his mother triggered something in his mind; he suspects it had something to do with missing the old days when the family was together and actually happy.

 

John was sitting down on his cheap bed that caused pain to his back, in a cheap apartment that he was barely able to afford. He took out the pendant the old woman had given him that day. The blue crystal has not dimmed its shine and it somehow reminded him of the old woman’s vivid green eyes. How John could have possibly thought there was something after him? He had to remind himself that he was only a child and his imagination was wild. He was told that it was a man who kidnapped him and it wasn’t any sort of creature, John told himself to think logically.

There was no such thing as monsters that lived in the darkness. He was just a child with some imagination, there is no such thing as a tall man that killed children with several arms coming out of its back. The shadow he saw that day when he got shot was only his mind playing tricks because of the grieve he felt towards his mother’s death.

He took a deep breath and looked up at the ceiling. One thing, however, John rediscovered something about his life after that incident. Nothing good ever happens to him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was, John would think, a miracle to encounter Sherlock Holmes at that time in his life. He was something that John was not; eccentric, brilliant, genius and something that John found a little troubling, gorgeous. He wasn’t homophobic or anything but the attraction came as a surprise. He had to admit there were several flirtatious encounters and occasional nights with several men during his experimental time in the University but he hadn’t felt the strong attraction he felt to his new flatmate in all the people he ever came across. He also knew that Sherlock Holmes was not interested in such things given that on the first day they met he did make it very clear that Sherlock Holmes was married to his work.

 

John wasn’t sure if he wanted to sabotage anything that they had with the fascination he felt for the man. He liked working with Sherlock, it gave him the excitement he lost by coming back from the war. He liked the easy relationship in where they both could say whatever they needed to say bluntly and sabotaging that with an awkwardness that was the product of a feeling that was not welcome is something John needed to avoid. He knew that Sherlock had probably picked up on something since the man knew everything the moment he observed but there was no conversation brought up about it. John figured that Sherlock didn’t want to talk about it and gave him a way out.

 

The best way to dissolve any feelings towards somebody was to have those feelings directed to somebody else, and so John went on dates with woman he met.

It did not help that Sherlock drove most of the girls away from John. It also most certainly did not help that John would drop everything to go and help Sherlock whenever he gets a text form the crazy man. The dates would be cancelled and the girls would accuse of John loving Sherlock more than his own girlfriends.

John was getting more and more irritated because he needed someone else to kill whatever he was feeling for his flatmate.

John was not sure whether he lusted or fancied the mad genius and he was still not prepared to act on anything that could destroy something that was finally _good_ in his life.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John was sitting in his office, finishing all the documents that needed to be gone over; however, all he could think was Sherlock back in the flat. It was getting a little embarrassing; John felt like a school girl who had her first crush and it gave him a headache. It was that moment when his phone rung. He looked at the screen and felt a little dizzy. Did the man know when John was thinking about him?

 

_At Barts. Buy cucumber on your way back -SH_

 

John pinched the bridge of his nose and slowly exhaled. He told himself that it was just a coincidence and he should just calm down.

 

_Will buy it on the way back. Whatever you are doing be safe –JW_

 

_Always, John-SH_

 

_I mean it-JW_

 

John sent the message as soon as he was able to; he hated all the new technology that was becoming necessary for his life.

It was already six when John started to pack all his belongings. The rain had already started to fall and the only thing he wanted was a nice hot shower and food. He was heading home while thinking on whether he was going to be able to make Sherlock eat tonight; the man is worryingly thin. He went to the nearby Tesco to get the cucumber and some dinner they could have. The sky was getting darker and darker.

 

It was only several steps to his flat when he suddenly felt a jolt of pain on his chest. It stung as if his skin was being carved by a sharp knife and John dropped all his belonging on the floor to hold on to his chest. It hurt so much that standing was something difficult to do and John knelt onto the floor. _A heart attack?_ The thought crossed his mind and the more he thought about it the more he panicked. John tried to scream for help but the only things coming out of his mouth were gasps of air.

 

It was only then that he noticed how the neighbourhood was very quiet. There was no sound of any cars nor where sound of people walking by; no sound what so ever but his gasps. The air became heavier and John felt his heart stop.

 

 

 

There was something behind him, he could tell.

 

 

 

 

It was moving towards him and the closer the thing came the more he heard a sound of something cracking.

 

His heart started to pound fast and the breathing became harder.

 

In the corner of his eyes he could see something creeping in; it took him several moments to notice it was a pale white hand with long and slender fingers.

 

John’s whole body started to tremble. _It can’t be. He was dreaming. He had to be dreaming._

 

 

John gathered all the bravery he had left and run towards the entrance of the flat as fast as he could. He struggled to unlock the entrance door for a moment but once opened, he went in, shut it with all the force he had and locked it as fast as possible. He run through the stairs towards their flat and also shut the door. He was leaning back on the door, breathing hard. He could hear his heart pounding in his ears and felt it moving fast in his ribcage.

 

 

 

“John?”

 

 

John flinched at the voice coming from the room. It took him a moment to recognize Sherlock who was holding his violin. He put the violin down on his chair but never lifting his gaze off John. He was studying him, trying to understand what was going on but soon frowned.

 

Before Sherlock could open his mouth, John mumbled something meant to say he was going to his room and left. He limped up the stairs, got into the room and locked the door. It was only then he was able to try and slow his breathing.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John sat on his bed, holding tight to the pendant.

 

He mentally repeated himself; _it was not real. It can’t be real. It was a figment of his imagination. He was just tiered. He was a child with a wild imagination. It was a man who kidnapped him, not a monster. There is no such thing as monsters._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

It was the alert of a message in his phone that brought back John to the real world.

 

_Tea, John –SH_

 

 

John read it twice to make sure he was not imagining this message. He looked at the alarm clock and it was already eleven. He didn’t want to talk what happened today but he knew he couldn’t hide away in his room forever. He rubbed his eyes with his palms, and decided it was time to descend. _I have fought in a war and invaded a country. God dammit! Get yourself together, Watson._

 

John was a soldier and he was going to get over this whether he was ready or not.

When John came down the stairs, Sherlock was lying on the couch with reading an article. The things that John had left behind in the street were on the floor next to the entrance.

 

John tried to silently move towards the kitchen when he saw two steaming cups of tea sitting on the coffee table. He looked at it with a questioning gaze but soon realize that Sherlock had made a cup of tea for him. John looked at it for a moment but slowly went to sit down on his arm chair. He took the cup of tea that was still full and took a sip.

 

“Thanks, Sherlock”

 

Sherlock just gave a non-committal sound but it only made John feel a warm sensation spreading through his chest. It comforted him. John sigh heavily wishing what he just had experienced a few hours ago was just another trick his mind was playing on him. He decided to get examined tomorrow just in case for any heart conditions or something related. He closed his eyes to relax himself; _he was okay, he was just panicking because of the sudden pain on his chest_. John forced himself to conclude that he just overreacted outside.

 

 

 

 

 

He did not, however, realize that there was a slender, tall man standing in the middle of the stairs watching both of them. In its hand was John's crystal pendant that now had a small thin crack. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this in one go so I'm pretty sure it is a little worse than the previous ones...(I did my best editing it but when it is something you write it's hard to find mistakes....:/ sorry! I'll try to find a beta and hope someday I can fix all the mistakes from all the chapters I'll be posting...Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this chapter.  
> Just a thing I want to warn the readers is that I'm thinking of adding another tag that involves mpreg. I would probably add it on the second part of this series so just a early heads up.....:) (No worries, I'll warn it again when it comes very close)  
> Anyways thank you very much for reading this!


	5. Why would you deny me?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I only wanted to be with you. I only wanted to hold you. I only wanted to see your smile. I only wanted and wanted and I think I started to loose my mind.

 

John started to see shadows around him more frequently.

He was becoming more paranoid every day and Sherlock was becoming more worried (even though he didn’t show it).

The only thing that calmed him down was the knowledge that whatever he was seeing never actually came to his sight properly. It was always in the corner of his eye that John would see something standing or something trying to creep in, but it never actually make an appearance like he remember when he was a child. When he had the courage to look there was always nothing there. He hoped that it was indeed his mind playing games and would go away after ignoring it for a long time.

 

The good thing was Sherlock got him occupied with cases that rush his vain with adrenaline. Being with Sherlock and chasing after criminals brought John back to life. It was something he enjoyed. Listening to Sherlock and his deduction was something John always loved. No matter how rude Sherlock could be while doing so, it never stopped being something brilliant. It was fast, clear and insightful; it was just something amazing to watch. It was also something that John hated; the act was something that attracted John to the genius and the more he saw that brilliance the unnecessary feeling grew.

 

John was out of his depth but like a gift, Sarah came into the picture. She was attractive and, although not as much as his genius flatmate, was also smart. John didn’t miss the chance and asked her on a date.

 

 

It didn’t help that Sherlock tagged along. John understood that they were in the middle of a case but he really needed this. He felt the attraction to Sarah and he hoped it was something to help with his infatuation towards his friend. Sherlock didn’t leave until it was in the middle of the show, and John didn’t notice because his mind was preoccupied by the panic of being watched.

 

John started to feel the heavy gaze again just before the show started. He stood tight to the ground and tried to pretend he didn’t feel anything; _it’s all in your head, there is nothing over there. Just pretend that nothing is there._ John repeated that in his head hoping it was enough so he would not listen to his instincts and run away. He looked at Sarah who was enjoying the show and tried to look away from the source of the gaze. He knew it was standing near the wall on his right side. It wasn’t until Sherlock came out from the back stage with a man trying to kill him that John moved from his place.

 

When he accidentally looked at the wall, there wasn’t anything standing there.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John thanked Mrs. Hudson when she brought in some snacks and drinks. He put a mental note in his mind that he had to buy something to eat and stop ordering deliveries. He was a doctor and he should know better.

 

Sherlock was being a little cold but he wasn’t as rude as he normally was and John was glad. Sarah seemed to be impressed at the work that Sherlock was doing and John felt a little hope growing inside him he thought perhaps this relationship with Sarah could coexist with hi life style and Sherlock. As always, it never truly work as he wanted. It was only when Sherlock left the flat he felt the gaze again but this time he felt it coming down from his room. He was facing his back towards the stairs and didn’t want to look back. He could hear the crack of the wood and it was coming closer and closer to the living room. John started to tremble slightly and Sarah saw that.

 

“John, are you alright? You seem nervous”

 

John wanted to reply to her but thankfully the door knocked. He quickly went to the door but instead of getting what he ordered, he was facing a man who definitely was not a delivery boy.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John was tied up on a chair and was accused of being Sherlock. The Chinese woman wouldn’t listen to the plea and John was getting even more frustrated. He wanted to go and save Sarah from that giant crossbow but couldn’t. The thought of Sherlock coming to the rescue was the only hope John had while Shan kept on interrogating him. The clock was ticking but there was nothing he could do but to wait and try to get free. Sarah was crying her eyes out and it pained John to see it. It was entirely his fault.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Crack_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 _No, not now. Please not now_. John could feel the thing from behind coming closer to him. The air became heavier and his lungs were starting to hurt every time John wanted to breathe.

 

 

_Crack_

_._

 

_Crack_

_Crack_

 

.

 

 

The thing was getting closer and closer; there was no escape.

 

 

 

_Crack…._

 

 

 

 

John started to feel sick, but also noticed that the time was moving slower. Perhaps it was his mind again, John told himself. _People say that when they are about to die everything moves slower_. It certainly was the first time he encountered death. It was then when the noise became lauder, clearer and for some reason faster.

 

 

 

_Crack_

_Crack,crack_

_crackcrackcrackcrackcrackcrackcrackcrackcrackcrackcrackcrackcrack_

_crackcrackcrackcrackcrackcrackcrackcrackcrackcrackcrackcrack_

_crack_ _crackcrackcrackcrackcrackcrackcrackcrackcrackcrack_

_crackcrackcrack_ _crackcrackcrackcrackcrackcrackcrack….._

 

 

 

 

 

_CRACK_

 

 

 

 

 

And there it was.

 

 

 

 

A white, slender hand held in front of his face.

 

It was hovering over as if searching for an entrance, covering his sight; John couldn’t see Shan or Sarah but he could see something from between the long fingers. It was _him_.

 

There was a blank face with nothing on it, but it brought back the nostalgic fear John was repressing for a long time. It was just an inch away from his face and it terrified John to the core of his bones. It was looking right through him; John wanted to say something but the only thing that came out of his mouth was gasps of air. The thing cocked his head and the memory of it attacking him that night vividly came into his mind. John could feel something burning on his chest and he just wanted to get out. The thing cocked his head slowly to the other side.

 

_No._

_Please, leave me. No_

 

The fingers came closer to his face but before anything touched, John screamed; _“NO!”_

 

 

It was also the moment when Sherlock came to save them both.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The whole thing went past quickly. After the whole incident of the _Blind Banker_ (as John was keen on calling it) the thing never appeared in front of John.

 

There were occasional sights in the corner of his eyes just like he used to before the kidnapping, but the man never appeared fully. John didn’t know whether he was thankful of that since there were so many problems Sherlock and he had to deal with. He was, however, _very_ thankful to not deal with it when they both encountered Jim Moriarty. He didn’t need to be worried about that while he had to deal with the psychopath that was obsessed with his flatmate.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John was in his room holding his gun. The curtains were shut tight but there was still a strip of sunlight coming in from outside. He just came back from putting a drugged Sherlock back to bed; it was quite a sight to see Sherlock’s puzzled expression when he encountered The Woman. A sight, but John knew it was going to be some kind of trouble to get involve with someone like her; it was also a little heart breaking to see Sherlock being fascinated by the beautiful and brilliant being. John thought he would have felt something close to jealousy if he didn’t have other things to worry about.

 

After the encounter with the man, John started to feel a sort of surrender to his life. He still wants to believe that the thing was a figment of his imagination created because of some sort of psychological problem, but he knew that he could not be in denial anymore. It wasn’t on his mind, it was real and he knew it somewhere in the back of his head that he was just trying to make excuses.

He was scared for his life, for the lives of his friends; the life of Sherlock. He remembered Abby sitting down under that tree being sucked out by the man and he knew that it was killing her. Immediately after getting out of the capture of Shan, John had returned home safely with Sherlock. His genius flatmate saw something was bothering John but John himself kept quiet about what he saw.

 

Thankfully, Sherlock didn’t ask anything; John thought it was because he concluded that the whole kidnapped shenanigan had him anxious. John didn’t elaborate about the whole thing because the last thing he needed was Sherlock involved in this bizarre thing that was, well, _unnatural_. John also didn’t want to involve Sherlock because the man putted himself in dangerous situation so many times with the natural beings that was hard enough to avoid getting killed. The extra baggage was unnecessary.

 

There was also the fear of being rejected by Sherlock; if John was in his position, he would probably suggest seeking professional help.

 

 

 

John held his gun higher. He wondered if this could kill it or if it was even able to die in any way possible. John exhaled, hoping that it will help with the stress. He decided to put away the gun inside the hidden space underneath his bed but then he saw the crystal pendant hanging down his bedside desk. John noticed there was a small crack on it; he wondered if there was a time that he dropped it to cause it but nothing came into his mind. He wondered if it was there all along and he just ever noticed. John remembered the vivid green eyes of the old woman and decided to wear the pendant from now on. John felt a little silly but it was a comfort nevertheless. The pendant rested just in the centre of his chest, the coldness of the crystal reminded John of the creature every time it touched him.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Irene Adler was something John couldn’t really stop thinking. She was a beautiful woman that was equally intelligent like his flatmate; _A perfect match indeed_. It was extraordinary to see their interaction but also a little hard to watch with all the sexual tension coming and going. It felt like John was being a creep just by being in the same room; it probably was something to do with the whole situation just being _Sherlock_ encountering _lust_. Something he never thought he would see from the man. He felt something similar to jealousy creeping in again but quickly stamped on it.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

John was reading the newspaper while the two were doing their _thing_ (John gave up a long time ago to get included in the conversation). It was only then when he saw the news: _Woman found dead in Kent._ John read through the article and the more he read the more he started to shake. He was horrified and re-read the victim’s name countless times; _Abigail Barker_.

 

John told himself that it was just a coincidence. There would probably be more than a thousand Abigail Barker within Kent. But the photo attached next to the article stopped his heart; it was indeed Abby. She grew up to become a beautiful woman who still had her beautiful curls. Even though the monochrome photo didn’t show it, it was easily imaginable of her beautiful red hair.

 

John closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He was trying to control his panic because the only thing that is running through his head was the image of that long arms coming out of the man’s back and hovering over Abby’s little body. The article indicated that Abigail had her organs removed and put back in a plastic bag; it concluded that the police had concluded to be the same person who killed a little girl back in the day. John remembered Maggie and the incident in his school; he then found out that they were both assumed being killed by the same predator. He flinched at the sound of his phone ringing.

 

He quickly looked at the name of the caller and hesitated to answer the phone. It was Harry and John knew it was something to do with this news. He looked at the two still going at each other and decided to take the call at his room.

 

 

“John? John! Did you see..” He quickly cut his sister.

 

“I know Harry. I just read it”

 

“Dammit Johnny. I knew I’ve seen her somewhere. It’s her isn’t it? The girl. Oh god Johnny! It’s probably the creep who killed all those boys and also took you away! I just know it!”

 

John could hear his sister pacing around her flat. He couldn’t blame her; they both thought the one who killed all the boys who picked on Harry that day was the one who also caused the fire on their house. Everybody knew it wasn’t an accident that killed Nana; the only thing that John was thankful was that his mother was already gone and didn’t have to experience this fear.

 

“Oh god OH GOD! Johnny! What if he comes after you!? I can’t, I don’t!”

 

“Harry, please calm down. It’s all right. It was in Kent, remember? The killer just… probably just came back to the same place. He wouldn’t know where I am now after all these years..”

 

“But Johnny! _HE KIDNAPPED YOU!_ ”

 

“Harry, please. It’s been years! He probably doesn’t even remember…”

 

 

John tried his best to calm his sister down but he was terrified himself. He remembered the thing hurting Harry’s bird. Or was he just linking every bad incident to the man?

John decided he needed to talk her down in person. He told her he was going to be there as soon as possible and hanged up the phone. John quickly took his gun and wallet; he didn’t look at the two still in the room when he passed by.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Johnny, Johnny!”                                        

 

Harry was still panicking when he got there. She hugged him tight the moment she saw him; she was trembling so much that John had to hold her still. He took her to her couch and soothed her.

 

“Shh, it’s alright. I’m here, right?”

 

“But he..the news..I…we have to go to the police! We just have to!”

 

“And say what? Harry, it’s been more than a decade. I’m not a kid anymore and we haven’t been there since the fire.”

 

“But what if he comes after _you? After us?”_

 

“I know people from the police, right? And besides, I get into lots of trouble by working with Sherlock. If it’s the same guy, I think I would be able to take him.”

 

 

He looked into her eyes and whispered all the words that he knew were lies; he couldn’t do anything when _it_ came near him the few times they crossed paths. But his sister needed this; he needed to make her feel safe and protect her with any cost.

 

“I was in the army, Harry. I think we are okay. Don’t worry about it, yeah?”

 

She searched his eyes for a few seconds and soon gave him a faint smile. It broke John’s heart to see the state she was in, she was still his sister and John would do anything to protect her; _anything_.

 

“Yeah…yeah..you’re right. I’m just paranoid I guess. I think I’m going to go and have a rest.”

 

She looked at John with eyes filled with fear and quietly begged.

 

“Could you stay here? For the night? Please?”

 

“Of course, I’ll be here Harry. Go have a rest. If there is anything I’m here.”

 

John hadn’t seen his sister this shaken since their Nana’s funeral. He silently looked at Harry retired to her bed and stood up to make some tea for himself. He needed to calm himself down.

 

 

John put on the kettle and was waiting for the water to boil. He was tapping his fingertips on the counter, mentally counting down numbers. It was then when the air became heavy and hard to breathe. He felt a familiar sting in his chest; _he was there_.

 

 

 

The kettle was still boiling but the sound of the water didn’t cover the sound of the recognizable sound of _crack_. John could feel a cold sweat falling down his back; he couldn’t turn around. The light in the kitchen started to flick.

 

John closed his eyes, swallowed slowly and took a deep breath. He opened his eyes and saw a black thing through the reflection on the kettle. The first words came as gasps, but he clenched his hand and opened his mouth.

 

 

“I know you’re there.”

 

 

The sound of the cracking wood stopped. The reflection of the man on the kettle showed that the man cocked his head; just as John remembered.

 

“I’ve…seen you around. I, wasn’t sure if you were real.”

 

John forced himself to stop trembling; _he was a soldier dammit_.

 

“I don’t know what you want from me. I never did and don’t.”

 

 

The man cocked his head to the other side and started to come closer again. John felt his heart pounding faster and he started to feel dizzy.

 

“I know you killed them. It was you wasn’t it? Abby? Abigail Barker?”

 

 

The man stopped just behind John; he could feel the tall slender man breathing down his neck. John closed his eyes and clenched his fist tighter on the counter.

 

“Please. Just, please don’t hurt Harry. She’s my sister and I…You can do whatever you want with me. Please just leave Harry alone.”

 

The room went into silence. John wondered if the man had disappeared again; _he certainly hoped so_. John was terrified but he couldn’t stop his curiosity and slowly opened his eyes. What he saw however, drained the blood off John’s face.

 

The familiar long pale hands were in front of John and were placed just above his chest. John inhaled a sharp breath and tried to back away from the hands but soon bumped himself with the creature. John couldn’t move; the feeling of the rise and fall of the man’s chest alarmed him but he also wanted to escape from the hand that was approaching from in front. The hand viciously grabbed his shirt and John heard something crack. The pain in his chest was unbearable and he closed his eyes tight to endure the pain. He could hear the man moving even closer; he could feel the presence of his face just next to John’s ear. There was a puff of air and a deep voice;

 

 

 

 

 

_“Mine”_

 

 

 

 

The kettle clicked. John opened his eyes to see nothing but himself standing in front of the counter. The lights were no longer flicking. He still felt a numb sensation on his chest but when he put his hand on it there was something that stung his skin. He quickly remembered the sound of a crack and when he put a hand in his shirt to check he cut himself with something sharp. He took off his shirt to check if there was something. He quickly noticed that it was his pendant that was provoking the sting; the small crack had deepened near to the centre.

 

 

John noticed his body was trembling of fear. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is kind of a fast chapter. I kind of wanted to fast forward the story since I knew if I allowed myself to go bits by bits the story would just be long and would start to become a little dull.. Anyways, I hope I didn't have too many mistakes (I kind of tried to finish it last night; yes my brain apparently went on this writing rush last night......) but hope it was enjoyable to read :)


	6. In the darkness I wait

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Story updated. It's short and unbeta'd.

He couldn't go back home, back to where Sherlock was.

John felt as if there was nowhere to be safe. He will find him, and John didn't want to think about what could be his future.  What could it _do_ to Sherlock.

 

He stayed with Harry that night. He left a message to Sherlock of his whereabouts as well; _not that he got a reply._

Staring at the wall above the chimney that was set in front of the couch, John dreaded the idea of spending the night in the same location where he encountered the being.

 

There was also a sort of numbness that made him feel detached. It was as if the broken part of the pendant has taken all his sensory away after stinging him. His ears, however, were over sensitive; he couldn't stand the sound around him; the sound of air, the sound of his vain, the sound of the window cracking because of the wind, the sound of Harry upstairs snoring, and the sound of the fridge.

It was unbearable because John knew that the moment those sounds were gone, _he_ was there.

 

The fear and anxiety he was feeling towards the inevitable future was slowly crushing him inside. John just didn't know what to do. He didn't know what it wanted.

John lay down on the couch and covered himself with the blanket Harry lent him. He felt five again. He wished his father came and check underneath every furniture within the flat.

He wanted his father to check underneath the coach with a torch to only come up with a smile, declaring that John was safe from any monsters. He wanted that feeling of safety; the feeling he could only remember vaguely but will never get again.

 

Nothing was the same, not after that fire.

John didn't sleep that night.

 

 

 

  

 

The flat was empty but with evidence of a tantrum Sherlock must had have. John had some ideas of what it was about, but never was for sure. He was never sure when it came to Sherlock, except one fact about the detective. The absence made him feel glad but also anxious.

John went to the bathroom to freshen up. There was something about the cold water splashing down the drain that was mesmerizing. It relaxed him a little bit so he just stayed.

The sound echoed through the flat and John could only tense his back. He tried to listen for the sound, any sound.

His breath started to quicken. He listened but the sound of his heart pounding was in the way.

_Stop it. Stop it. Please stop it._

 He listened for the silence.

 

“John?”

 

John looked back quickly towards the direction he heard Sherlock’s voice. The detective was apparently in the flat.

“Sherlock?”

He went out of the bathroom and knocked Sherlock’s room but instead he heard Sherlock call for him again. It was coming from his room. Raged and exasperated to the lack of privacy he had with his flatmate, John climbed the stairs.

 

He put his hand and turned  the knob just when he heard Sherlock calling him again; _“John.”_

 

It was at that moment when John realized; there was not a single sound but him; the sound of his breathing, the sound of the cracking sound of the wood that he made when going up, and the sound of air.

 

 

_There was no sound but him and him alone._

 

The realization chilled his spine, and froze him in the spot.

“John”

The voice came just in front of him; he was right behind the wooden door. A sound of the wood been scratch made his hair stand.

“John. Please come in. I have to talk to you”

The door was pushed opened towards him but John’s instinct made him sprint and push it back. There was a voice in his head that told him that he couldn't open the door.

He couldn't allow the door to open. _He couldn't let it open_.

John shut his eyes and pushed as much as he could, though the creature behind the door pushed even harder. The floor creaked with the force, the door echoed even louder, and the door knob was being rattled from the other side. 

The voice became even louder and far from the low baritone that was Sherlock.

 

“Please John. _John._ ”

 

The voice turned into a screech and John couldn't hold his eyes shut. He opened his eyes and looked at the open gap.

There were long, white fingers holding the edge of the door, pushing further, and the creature staring back at him through the gap.

John stopped breathing.

It didn't have a face. It only had a mouth that stretched from one end to the other, with razor sharp teeth.

It was looking at him.

John didn't know at the moment why he thought that when the only thing the creature had was a mouth, but he felt the piercing stair of it on him.

The mouth stretched as far as it could, resembling a grin.

 

_“John”_

 

 

The lights flickered and John screamed.

He pushed back with all he had.

 

 

  

 It was not until Sherlock came back and found him still pushing at his door that John realized it was gone.

The bizarre situation made Sherlock worried about the Doctor.

“John, what happened”

It was a question but also a demand to know. Distantly, John could see Sherlock’s brain catching all the details of the situation and filing it in his mind to deduce what happened.

 

“I had a bad dream”

That was all John said. Sherlock pushed further to demand details, but John silently left to the couch and stare at the empty space.

The detective knew there was something wrong with the Doctor and could push it further. But there was nothing that allowed him to come to the conclusion of what was happening to his flatmate. It bothered him not knowing but he did know that John was not going to give him the answer now.

The evidence of the situation shows that there was no external intrusion or an attack. The only thing Sherlock could find was a piece of beautiful glass. He examined it and concluded that it was from jewellery; the one that John started to wear recently due to nostalgia attachments. Sherlock concluded that it was broken when the Doctor was having his fit and nothing more.

 Frustrated to the lack of information and the thought of not knowing what was going on, Sherlock stormed to his room and sulked.

 

 

John did not leave the couch for the next week. On the fourth day of his stay at the couch, Sherlock noticed that John was holding his pendant in his hand that was covered with dried blood. The pendant was broken and there was only a piece of it remaining intact to the rope that was once holding it in place; it was no more bigger than a penny.

Sherlock deduced that the pendant has broken while the shenanigan four days ago, but did not receive any confirmation.

There was, however, one fact that Sherlock himself could not bring himself to connect the dots.

 

 

The silence scared John more than anything now.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the comments. I have updated the new chapter in the announcement chapter I have previously posted (I hope that's ok since I wanted to reply to some of the comments but also wanted to delete the announcement page). 
> 
> I hope to update the next chapter which is the main event. I will be replying to the comments I have received before (again, I'm so sorry for the late reply). I am still editing and re-writing bits of this story so there will be changes made in the future for the entire work. Thank you again for the support and reading this story!


	7. Now you're free

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the late update again. Life is hectic and just sad and annoying sometimes.

Everything went to hell. Irene was dead but then really not, Sherlock got depressed, Christmas was sort of painful, and John lost another attempt in having a relationship. Then came the silence, a very long silence. John couldn’t stand the silence out of everything that was going on at the time. He hadn’t encountered _“it”_ after the incident with the door, but John could feel the change in the atmosphere. It wasn’t the sudden change that he associated with _it_ getting closer, but more a gradual change that stuck around.  It was as if he was there, watching him from the shadows.  

 

Though he couldn’t sleep, John managed to go back and stay in his room during the night. He clutches the gun he has, shaking whenever the room cracked. John started to learn when the sunrise and the sunset, and also started to sleep less and less. He started to research about it; _was it his mind playing tricks? Was it real?_ He quickly scratched that second one off, mainly because he couldn’t cope with the idea of _“it”_ actually being a real thing. It was also the reason why his research didn’t go much further from mental health cases and maybe some pages about urban legends.

They try to go back to the job, or at least Sherlock does, and listen to what Henry Knight had to say. A gigantic hound sounded more attractive from whatever he had going in his life right now. A distraction with a case sounded like a release, like freedom.

Ever since that night, John couldn’t truly feel at ease with Sherlock. He couldn’t truly relax in his presence and jumped whenever he heard his name with that low baritone voice.

 

_“John.”_

 

Sherlock will call him as he normally does but all John could think was that face with sharp teeth and-

 

“Come along now, John.”

 

Dartmoor it was.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
This case was a bad idea.

They went into the hollow and waited for the hound, which was apparently successful. The experience was enough to leave both Henry and Sherlock shaken. It wasn’t the sort of situation John was familiar with, and certainly not with Sherlock acting frighten. The fireplace was bright and radiating warmth, heating John’s hands from the cold outside. The seat wasn’t his usual and it bothered his leg, but felt comfortable to be able to sit near the detective. Sherlock wasn’t replying to anything John had to say, which it wasn’t unusual. So John went on.  


“ Maybe we should look at whoever has a big dog.”

  
“Henry was right”-Sherlock mumbles.

  
“What?”   


John knits his brows to how Sherlock’s voice quivered slightly when he spoke, and how shaken he truly is.

  
“I saw it, too.”

 

John wasn’t sure what he just heard and had to repeat it in his head. It still didn’t make sense.  
  
“What?”

   
Slightly frustrated, Sherlock repeated, “I saw it too, John."

Now actually seeing the how shaken and traumatized Sherlock was, John quickly tried to clear whatever it was that was being said.  
  
“Just…just a minute. You saw what-“

“A hound. At the end of the hollow.”

 

Sherlock replied by almost cutting off John’s question. For the first time since he came back from Henry, or maybe even from the hollow, John saw the redden two icy blue eyes staring back at him; filled with fear, something John has never seen before in them. But he recognized the look when he saw it. It was the look John was wearing ever since he had that encounter.

John was still confused. Sherlock never believed in this sort of mythical creature. He had answers to everything. He had the best mind John had ever known.  
  
“Look Sherlock. We have to be rational about this, ok?”

 

John couldn’t watch Sherlock breaking down, he just couldn’t. Watching the man he considered brilliant breaking down was something he didn’t know how to handle. John also couldn’t cope with the idea that these mythical creature, or whatever they where, being real. The moment Sherlock believed in them was the moment John had to face the idea of _“it”_ being something real, something that wasn’t the product of his imagination or mind, as John was trying to convince himself. _It couldn’t be real. It was all in his head. It shouldn’t be real. It isn’t real._

John chuckles a little to himself, trying to push down the panic that was slowly clawing itself up.  
  
“And you, of all people, can’t just….let’s just stick to what we know, yes? Stick to the facts.”

  
Sherlock was now breathing heavily, trying to calm himself but failing. It didn’t make it any easier for John.

 

“Once you rule out the impossible, whatever remains- however improvable-must be true.”

 

John’s heart skipped a beat, but brush it off.

“What’s that mean.”

 

Sherlock seems irritated, but takes a breath and holds his glass with liquor in it. He gives out a small laugh. Not looking at John, Sherlock continued.

 

“Look at me, I’m afraid John. _Afraid_.”

 

Sherlock takes a gulp of his drink, still not looking at John.

 

“Sherlock.”

 

“I’ve always been able to keep myself distance. Divorce myself from feeling. But you see? Body’s betraying me...”

 

Sherlock holds his glass and finally looks into John’s eyes. John’s heat stopped when he realized that Sherlock ‘s eyes were glassy; the man is almost crying from fear. It was too much, and John wanted it to stop; stop the reality pouring into his sight.  


“Yeah alight, Spock. Just, take it easy.”

 

John whispers and continues. “You’ve been pretty wired lately, you know you have. I think you’ve just gone out there and got yourself worked up.”

 

“ _Worked, up_.”

 

Sherlock was getting angry and it showed, but John could only continue to escape this fear.

 

“It was dark and scary-“

_“Me?”_

   
The harsh tone stopped John from further going that road, making him realize he was pushing Sherlock even further to somewhere that isn’t helping him deal with whatever he had experience.

 

“There is nothing _wrong_ with me.”

 

The mocking tone and the cruel smile he had on cut deeply into John, make him realize the state of his friend was worse than what he first thought.

Sherlock gasp air into his lungs, and held his head and closed his eyes.

It was that moment when there was something eerie coming from behind John, more so than normal. Ever since the incident, John will feel somebody staring at his back, but normally didn’t encounter anything when he turned to see if it was _“it.”_

 

This time, however, was different. The presence John felt started to get near him. The hair in the back of his neck started to stand, and the sound of the wood cracking started to gradually get louder from behind. It was as if the sound echoed from a far and was coming closer, louder. John sat down back into the chair. The warmth of the fireplace was no more, and the colour dulled. He felt a shiver rundown his spine, leaving him feeling cold.

“..Sherlock.”

Sherlock was taking deep breath and massaging his temples.

John try to get a glimpse of whatever it was behind him- he knew it was _“it”-_ but didn’t manage to look pass the crowd of people.

 

“Sherlock-“

 

_“There is nothing wrong with me, do you understand!”_

 

Sherlock’s voice echoed the hall, silencing everybody around him. The only thing that John realize from anything apart from the anger and fear that Sherlock radiated was the lack of whatever that was closing in.

 

“You want me to prove it yes? We’re looking for a dog yes? Cherchez la chien. Excellent.”

 

Sherlock turns to a couple sitting afar from them and points.

 

“How about them?”

 

John started to get a headache from everything that was going on, and could only answer Sherlock with “yes?” when he seemed to make his point. The violent and poisonous tone continued on, lashing out onto John.

“…I listen and I used my senses, John-unlike _some_ people. So you see I’m fine, as a matter of fact I’ve never been better. So just _leave. Me. Alone.”_

He turns the eyes full of hatred to John. The sight slowly made John’s blood rise to his head; while John tried his best, he did have a temper. He clenched his jaw, trying to calm himself.

 “Yeah, ok. Ok.”

 He tried to look away, but the anger and bitterness was getting the best of him.

 

“Oh why would you listen to me, I’m just your friend.”

 “I don’t have _friends.”_

“Nah. Hmm. I wonder why.”

 

John cleared his throat from whatever vile feeling he had and left the room.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
He was standing there outside of the Inn, drinking in the fresh air and trying to release whatever anger he still had.

He wanted to stop himself from leaving. John knew that part of whatever that just happened had to do with him as well. He pushed him. Sherlock was scared but he wanted to get the proof that mythical creatures didn’t exist; he wanted to hear that from Sherlock because whatever Sherlock says, must be true. So he pushed him when he was scared, because _he_ was scared.

Taking another deep breath, John looked far into the horizon. It was pitch black until John realizes the small light flickering in the distance. The sight stopped him to think about this whole mess. Maybe he could work alone for once without Sherlock, he thought to himself.

The light was mesmerizing until he realizes that the light wasn’t flickering, but there was something occasionally getting in the way.

John squints his eyes to see what it was. The sound of grass being stepped soon started to echo from the darkness. Somewhere in his mind, he knew what it was; he knew he should have run. John couldn’t take away his eyes from the occasional sight of the light; his body was stuck there.

 

The echo of the grass being stepped came with the eerie silence. John just realized that there it was, standing in front of him. He couldn’t see the light anymore but his eyes was fixated into the spot where he saw it.

John was cold and numb. The man- _the thing_ \- reached for his face with his long paled fingers, slowly covering his eyes. The fingers were cold like ice.

 _No, that wasn’t it_. John tried to remember the familiar sensation he felt. _What was it? Where has he felt this before?_

 

 

With that sound, something clicked within John. _Ah yes._ He remembered. _This is how a dead body felt like._

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

There was a weird sensation when he opened his eyes. It was already morning and he was standing in front of a church. John blinks again to focus his sight. He looks around and realizes that he was surrounded by graves. _Was it a cemetery?_   John force himself not to shiver and panic by taking a deep breath. He looks down to his hands to find a notebook with scribbles all around a couple of pages. It looked as if a child wrote it down with a pen.  
  
John’s hand shook.

The panic was rising up and he was almost hyperventilating. He had to calm down.

The note, written with a kid’s handwriting felt awfully familiar.

 

_  
-He came and picked me up and told me I was a good boy. He didn’t like the necklace much. It looks like it hurts him. He said if I gave it up he could take me back home. He told me Mr. Huggles was waiting for me and I could play with him too. He told me that he would take care of me. Mr. T is very nice but I don’t know how I know what he says because he doesn’t have a mouth. I asked him about it but he didn’t answer me and just said I had to give it up. But I told him I couldn’t go with him because I had to go home with Da and Ma and Harry and Nana. Nana promised me we would have fun when she came back, and I wanted to stay with Nana._

  
 

The paper rustled when he held it too tight, but John couldn’t look away and had to hold it there; he had to make sure it was real. He realizes that his fingers were slightly cold, and the pain to his leg was coming back. _Where has he gotten this?_  
  
John knows that it wasn’t there before. He knows this because he checked and he distinctly remembers jotting down about meeting with Henry before having that fight with Sherlock. It was clearly written by a child, yet he didn’t see any at the place where they stayed, or went near one. The word Mr.T sounded familiar- _no_ ; he knew where he heard it before. He named “it” himself. Back when he was just an innocent child. John felt he as if a cold bucket of icy water was splashed on to him; his worst nightmare was becoming true. The sound of his heart thumping was holding him back from walking away that place; he wanted to run.  
  
The thoughts of what the note meant and what it represents was making him mad; he felt sick. It was reaching into his conscious and screaming at him that this was real. This was happening to him and he couldn’t escape.

 

It was then when he realize that Sherlock approached him from behind. John quickly put the note back into his pocket and walked away; fully knowing that Sherlock was intending to talk to him. Probably the closest to an apology he would get from Sherlock, and he was glad for the distraction, to focus on them and the case, and not _“it.”_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

  
John was eating his breakfast, a full English breakfast; angry at Sherlock for using him as an experiment after that nice bonding session back in the church, but still eating. The only things that holds John from forcing the fork with the sausage into Sherlock’s mouth and force him to eat it was the idea that maybe things could be better; was getting better. The fact that Sherlock admitting getting a fact wrong, even if he adds the “little bit” in the beginning, was giving John warm feeling but also hope. He pointedly avoids looking in front. From the corner of his eyes, John could see white long fingers on the table. The fingers were just there, on the table without any movement, any life in it.

 

“Any long term effects?”

 

“Not at all. You’ll be fine once you excreted it with your meal.”

 

John nods a bit and continued eating.

 

“Think I might have taken care of that already.”

 

Sherlock chuckles. He then puts his cup of coffee that he held down on the table and stood up. John looks up to the man and quickly asks where he was going.

 

“It’ll be a minute. Got to see a man about a dog.”

Sherlock lift his brow and quirk the edge of his lips. John couldn’t smile back as the man left to talk to the Inn owner, and turned back to his plate; too cautious not to look directly to whatever that was facing him on the other side of the table. John keeps his eyes down and continued eating. Everything that was in his mouth tasted like ashes now, and soon the fork and knife he was using to cut his food felt heavy in his hands. It cluttered on the plate when he started to shake.

 

 _There is nothing there._ John kept telling himself countless times in his head. _There is nothing there._

 

_Crack._

 

_There is nothing there._

 

 

 

_Crack._

_Crack._

 

_Crack.  Crack. CrackCrack._

 

__Crack. _Crack. _Crack. _Crack.____  _

John shuts his eyes tightly, and almost whispers the word out loud: _There is nothing there._

 

_Crack Crack Crack Crack........_

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

_Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack. _Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack._ _Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack._ _Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack._ _Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.__ _Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack._ _Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack._ _Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack._ _Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack._ _Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack.Crack. _Crack._ _Crack._ _Crack._ _Crack._ _Crack._ _Crack._ _Crack._ _Crack._ _Crack._ _Crack._ _Crack.__

 

__Crack._ _

_“John.”_

_Crack._

Something sharp went through his chest and it started to feel like there was fire.

John's eyes flew opened and looked down . Long pale fingers were grabbing him tightly, beyond his shirt and what it seems like through his flesh.

John wanted to scream but he couldn’t. His voice got stuck in his throat and the only thing he did was flinch and move back, where he hit something cold.

  _Crack._ _Crack._ _Crack._

_“John.”_

  _Crack._ _Crack._ _Crack._ _Crack._ _Crack._ _Crack._ _Crack....._

The voice came right next to his ear and the hand moved forward, deeper into his chest, burning him.

 

John cried in agony.

 

It felt like he was burnt inside out; like acid was poured directly into him. The excruciating pain made him jolt back even further, and he realised that he was on the grass, clutching his chest.

 

“John!”

 

He opens his eyes slightly and saw Sherlock besides him, trying his best to deduce what was the cause of pain.  

 

“John, talk to me!”

 

John tried, but the only thing that came out of his mouth was a small whimper. He shuts his eyes tightly again, hoping the burning sensation went away. John could hear Lestrade screaming for a doctor.

Sherlock asked the Innkeeper to hold John’s hands and rips the shirt, trying to examine what it was. John tried to open and focus on his chest. It was hard to realise that it was he’s own body; the skin was red like blood and swollen, as if it could burst out any minute. Lestrade informs them that the ambulance was coming.

Sherlock looked lost, not knowing what the right procedure was. John was gasping for air, but his eyes were locked to his chest, just above his heart.

 

The pendant was gone and only ashes remained, scattered on his red skin.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! so life grabbed me and tossed me into a storm and laughed at my misery. What I mean is I was sort of busy with my degree and also stuff happened that was just egh. Sorry for the wait and thank you so much for being patient. I would like to reply to one and each of you but I feel like some of them have been over 100 days and I feel awful for just suddenly replying to you guys :z Let me know how you feel about it. But I read them all and I really appreciate every one of it! Also I really appreciate for the corrections on my grammar! I don't have a beta-person (reader?) to help me on this and it will probably contain a lot of mistakes (especially since I write them late at night...or like early in the morning. Depending on what you call 2AM~3AM). I'm rewriting the beginning to make it easier to read and less mistakes with grammar and spelling and will probably repost them (update them). I've also got a new [tumblr](http://komru.tumblr.com/) if you would like to bug me or poke me or if anyone would like to beta read some of my future fics :) Also I might move my story to a new account (komru in Ao3) so just heads up!  
> Also the story (or this section of the story) will end next chapter. I might continue with another section that includes Season 3 and a something special (hint hint).


	8. I give you this gift as a token of my love

The flat is too quiet for John. The flat feels even smaller now that he is alone. Alone. H’s a stranger in his own home; he doesn’t belong here. The sound of his blood beating within and the sound of air are the only thing John can now hear. It’s too loud. Evidence of the silence.   
  
It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He distantly wonders if this emptiness he feels within will ever stop. He wonders if it will ever actually be visible to the world. He wonders if he ever would get used to this silence.  The silence. He can’t do silence, he wants nothing to do with silence.

 

 

 

John climbs up the stairs to his room. The sound of wood cracking made by his heavy steps echoes through the house. He prefers it from the silence.   
  
Everything feels so distant right now. The door doesn’t feel heavy and the wind seeping into the room from the crack in the wall isn’t as cold as he used to remember. He feels numb. He feels on the verge of braking. He feels dead.

He looks helplessly around his room. He doesn’t know what to do. He thinks his eyes are stinging from all the tears he wants to shed but won’t come out. John briefly wonders if he just doesn’t care enough; no, he knows that’s not the case. He wonders if he is just in shock; he hears his therapist’s voice agreeing in the distance with that conclusion.

 

  
Everything is so far away. He doesn’t want it to be real. He doesn’t want to acknowledge it. He doesn’t want the raw feeling to finally over take him. He doesn’t want this. He just wants Sherlock back.

He wants the detective to come into his room, mocking John for the lack of intelligence and deduction skills to solve the _trick_. He wants Sherlock to demand tea. He wants Sherlock to whine about not having a cigarette, and to demand John to listen. He wants to see the brilliant brain of his to show John a world of excitement; he wants to see that man smile in pride of his brilliance and for John to praise him. John wants to give everything to Sherlock. He wants to give everything he had to that man because John will gladly do _if he is just given another chance_. The empty vogue in his stomach finally starts to expand and he can feel it waking his nerves up. John can’t handle it right now, he can’t.

 

John finally decides to sit down on his bed. He looks at the sun coming in through the window and into his room, but realizes that the weather took a turn; there are dark clouds outside and the sky is going dark. It’s cold and it’s smothering. He looks at the darkness outside and wonders what Sherlock would say about his state. Would he scoff and call it a waste of time? Or would he-

“John.”

The soothing baritone voice echoed through his room. John slowly looks back to the corner of his room that was shadowed, contrasting from the light that is currently curling back to the outside world as the clouds takeover. The striking gray blue eyes were filled with affection, and his lips were curved into a sweet smile.

“John.”

The eyes smile when it catches John’s eyes. Its all what John wanted but it’s all wrong.

“Please. Stop.”

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
-Before-

 

“Sherlock, I’m fine.”

John looks at his flat-mate with exasperation. Sherlock ignored him in favor for checking all of John’s medicines that were prescribed for the next week by the hospital. It was raining and getting chilly; John grabbed his blanket and sat more comfortably into his chair, looking at the fire dancing in its place. Sherlock puts down the medicine in front of John. The doctor they attended had diagnosed John with panic attack, while the red rash being an allergic reaction to some of the plants. The doctor also suggested that the lack of sleep wasn’t helping his panic attacks, which just made John rolled his eyes.

“I will get you some water.”

Sherlock quickly moves to the kitchen, examining the cup that was on the table and trying to remember if he used it for any experiment previously.

 

“Sherlock, it’s fine. I’ve already had my medicine for the day. Just. Would you stop-”

Sherlock looks back at John and scoffs again. He knows how stubborn John was when it came to his own health.

“Surely you know the saying of doctors being the worst patients.”

“Sherlock.”

John glares at the man but he couldn’t really deny the warm feeling gradually making its way into his heart. As if knowing, Sherlock smile and starts boiling water. John guesses the man is trying to make tea for him, but he didn’t ask the man for fear of breaking this _thing_ that was going on; the thing that was giving him comfort and peace of mind. He didn’t want to name it. The silence was comforting and welcoming, so John kept staring at the fire. Sherlock came back with a cup in both of his hands and gave one to John as he moved to his own chair.

“I am trusting you that there is nothing of the sort that will give me hallucination. Again.”

Sherlock snorts and gives a playful look at John.

“Please John, I’ll be more creative if I were to do it again.”

John smirks into his drink. A little too hot to take a sip yet but the warmness of the steam was something he needed.

 

  
  
  
  
John holds the cup in both his hands and looks back at the fire. He doesn’t know what or why the fire reminded him of his childhood. The time when he sat next to Harry to read a book and-

“Have you ever...”

He starts but hesitates a little. This was getting out of his control somehow, but he doesn’t know why. Sherlock isn’t looking directly at John but John knows he got the detective’s full attention. Sherlock was getting frustrated not knowing what was going on with John for the past couple of month. It bothered that he couldn’t solve it and couldn’t get the answer from the man who refused to even acknowledge, well, anything. John takes a small breath and closes his eyes.

“Have you ever, _erm_ , had an imaginary friend?”

“…What?”

It was something the detective didn’t expect. At all.

“An imaginary friend. Like, you know, when you’re a kid and sort of imagine a person or a thing that doesn’t really exist but is your friend and well, I guess be friends?”

“Yes yes I know, kids and imagination and what not. What of it?”  
John refuses to look at Sherlock.

“Well. I used to think I had one.”

“…Think?”

“My childhood is bit of a blur. I lost my Nana in a house fire when I was small.”

“…You think this imaginary friend of yours had something to do with it?”

Sherlock turns his head to look at John. His eyes are shining with excitement for a potential mystery and, while John loves looking at the detective with that look, it makes him feel slightly sick because he can only imagine what this whole thing could mean. What it could tell about John himself. He trusts Sherlock’s intelligence too much that he is scared what it could potentially indicate about his sanity. His history. Him. _It._  


“Sort of.”  
  
He manages to say after a moment or so. John takes a breath or two to calm him down.

“I just remember a little bit of him, _it_. I know it sounds bizarre, but I can’t…never could see his face.”

“You couldn’t see his face.”

Sherlock repeats, trying out every word of the sentence. John nods.

“I just remember a man. Very tall with long limbs. Long pale fingers. Wide smile with sharp teeth. But without a _face_.”

He bites out the last part because, no matter how many times he thinks it through his mind, it sounds incredibly idiotic to his ears. He sounds like a crazy man and he doesn’t want that. He feels vulnerable.

 

“I don’t. I don’t know what it says about me. I was all right for a while. Didn’t see him. Much. But recently…”

“You’ve been seeing him? Do you see him now?”

“No. It’s. I don’t know how to explain it. There was this case back when I was a kid. A lot of kids died in the area I was living. They thought it was a serial killer. A sicko getting its hands on kids. It sort of stopped after the fire. Sort of. I think? I don’t know. We left. I sometimes wonder if _my friend_ was actually that sicko. It sort of makes sense with all that was going on and everything. But he didn’t feel real. He doesn’t feel real, still. I sometimes can feel him there. Near me. But I sort of can’t seem to really remember what I saw. Well I do but I don’t. It’s just hard to explain. ”

John starts to get frustrated about the whole thing now but Sherlock doesn’t stop looking at him. After a moment Sherlock opens his mouth, eyes still on John.

“John. Have you ever been sexually harassed?”

The question is something John had expected to hear from people if he ever tried to explain this.

“No.”

John knew how his answer would seem to others. He knew what it could categorize the whole subject when he wanted to talk about. John knows it. It sounds as if his memory is trying to protect him from some horrible incident, like he is repressing something. John knows that he sounds like that and he considered the possibility for the idea that his younger self-creating _this_ to protect his mind. But there are so many things that don’t add up; both from what he remembers and from what he had experienced recently. ( _Maybe all his life_ , he reminds himself).

“It’s, hard. Maybe my mind is making something up and I guess…I don’t know.”

He regrets ever bringing it up. He regrets allowing this safe atmosphere to make him talk about it. He doesn’t want to talk about it because he can’t form the words to explain it. Everything is a mess and everything is unreal. It feels out of reality and it reminds him so many times that he maybe be going insane; maybe had been insane the whole time. It frightens him to no end.

Sherlock kept quiet for a while but opens his mouth to form John’s name just when his phone rings the tone for a message. John mentally thanks whatever out there to save him from this conversation. _Saved by the bell_ , he snorts inwardly.

“A case?”

He quickly diverts the whole conversation to the text, putting an end to the whole thing.

Sherlock knits his brows but grabs his phone. The work comes first, after all.

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The little girl screams out the instant she has a glimpse of Sherlock. Everybody takes a step back from the room, Lestrade guiding Sherlock out as quickly as he can. The detective’s eyes are wide from shock and surprise. They all don’t know what is going on, the screaming doesn't stop. Lestrade suggest that the detective takes this one off, for the kids sake, and John distantly hears Sherlock deducing that the kidnappers may had used somebody who looks like him to install fear to the children. But John couldn’t stop feeling nauseous from the cracking sound. 

John imagines the girl moving and trying to get out of the chair, causing for that awful sound. The sound was becoming louder and the short scream of the girl becoming more strained. John was wary and wondered what Sally was doing to comfort the girl. He glances in through the gap of the door that was still slightly opened. He saw the girl still shaken from fear.

 

She was looking straight at the left corner of the room in front of her. Her eyes were wide opened, iris small with fear and mouth wide gasping for air. John turns his eyes to what she was looking at and froze.

 

He couldn’t see from the angle and the space but he saw it.

 

 

 

 

 

He saw the long pale fingers spread on the wall.

 

 

He saw the long arm that was covered with black suit and he heard the cracking sound-

 

 

The door opened when he pushed himself off of it and stumbled to the ground. Everybody was looking at him but he was trying to control his breathing. Sherlock crouched at him to examine. He kept doing that ever since the cabin. Ever since-

“John, are you alright? Somebody get me water!”

Lestrade calls out. John couldn’t move his eyes off the girl. He saw her realize that she knew what he saw. What she saw, he saw. Sally slammed the door just when the girl screamed again.

 

She screamed for help to John.

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


He was taken to another room with a wet cloth on his cheek and a bottle of water to rehydrate.

“You don’t look so good mate. You should go home.”

Lestrade puts his hand on his shoulder to comfort him, but his body wouldn’t stop shaking.

“Have you had your necessary dose?"  
  
“Yeah. No. I’m fine. It’s just. I’m ok.”

“Cleary.”

Sherlock scoff and Lestrade puts the water bottle in front of John. Again. Reluctantly John drinks it. Half of it.

“You’got to.”

He tries but his voice quivers and he hates it. He sets his jaw, clears his throat a bit and tries again. This time with a more stable voice.

“You’ve got to. Take care of them.”

“…John.”

“Just. Make sure they’re alright.”

Lestrade looks at the detective for answers, but Sherlock is still looking at John. Lestrade just sighs and nods with a small “yeah”.

John knows he won’t hear her screams anymore. He wouldn’t know where she is. She will be gone, lost. Or worse, dead. Just like the others, a voice echoes within his head.

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


  
  
  
  
  
  


He is taken home, where Sherlock makes him sit on the sofa. “As my assistant I need you in the best condition John. This doesn’t work with you fainting all the time. You’re slowing me down.”

The statement hurt but John knew it was true. Sherlock grabs the medicine and cup of tea, setting them in front of John.

“ _Drink. It._ ”

He crosses his arms and looks at John until the pill is taken into his hand and drunk. John even demonstrates that he had by opening his mouth wide to show there is nothing left. Sherlock nods, and goes back to the case.

 

The reason John hates the medicine is because it makes him drowsy. He can’t hold his lids up anymore and distantly hears the entrance door being shut. He thinks he fell a sleep for a while, only to be woken from the chill that was ghosting over his shoulder, and hurting his leg as a result. John was shivering but he realizes the fire was set and the lights were off.

He was still drowsy from the medicine but after several tries, he managed to lift himself up from the sofa and walk to the kitchen to grab some tea. Or at least water, he told himself. His legs were wobbly and his body was swaying from side to side.

He grabs the counter of the sink and sighs heavily. The breath came out white from the cold, but the drowsiness stops him from thinking too much about it. He manages to put some water in the kettle and switch it on. The sound of the water boiling echoes within the kitchen and the vibration reaches to John’s numbed fingers through where he is grabbing the counter. His mind feels like its swimming and John tries to shake it off. He doesn’t notice the lights flickering.

 

“ _John._ ”

 

John slowly turns around. The detective is standing right in front of him.

 

“Sherlock?”

John tries to focus on the detective. He was still wearing his long coat and has his scarf around his neck. Just like always.

He has a wide smile that puts off John. Its out of place and unfamiliar.

  
“What’re you doing here? I thought you went off...the case…”

Sherlock only smiles even wider. John wonders if he could cut his lips by forcing it so far. Sherlock comes closer to John, grabs his arm and gently grabs his hand that was holding the counter.

“Wha-?”

He is pulled off the counter. John almost sways off, the drug still affecting his control over his body. The hold on his arm tightens to the extent that it was painful. Sherlock was trying to maintain him on the spot.

“John.”

Sherlock repeats with his low baritone voice. Not more than a whisper.

John is confused at the sudden eerie quietness the detective was holding. This wasn’t normal and he wonders if something had happened.

“Sherlock. Are you, are you alright?”

The detective was looking straight into John’s eyes. There was something lacking in those eyes. A sparkle of something. Life.

The wooden floor makes a sound.

John finds everything to be very unsettling and starts to struggle away from the man. The hold is tight and the fingers were digging into his flesh. It was painful.

“Stop, get _off-_ “

The detective was unmovable. The smile was smaller but was still there. The man tilts his head to the side as if questioning John.

The movement reminded him of something, but his mind was still unfocused. The only reason his body was even trying to move was from the fear. The man released his hold on John’s arm, which made John stumble down with his back hitting the counter and the wall. The pain was dull compare to the hold on his arm. Sherlock had grabbed his hand now, tightly as he did with his arm.

The man tilts his head to the other side in a slow motion. Smile still plastered on his face.

John was loosing his focus. His eye-lids were falling. The man crouches to his level slowly, still with John’s hand held into his. John manages to get a glimpse of the long white fingers digging into his flesh, causing to bleed a little. The last thing he saw before the darkness took a hold of him was the sharpen teeth that showed between Sherlock’s mouth when he whispered:

“Let’s go home.”

 

 

 

  
  
  
  
  


 

“John! Oh dear, John!”

The scream of Mrs. Hudson echoed in his head while John started to regain his consciousness. He was still down on the floor; his back to the sink and counter. He looks around and sees Mrs. Hudson’s worried eyes on him.

 “Oh thank God John, thank God.”

“I…where's Sherlock?”

Mrs. Hudson sits him up, and tries to sooth him by rubbing his back gently.

“I don’t know dearie. I thought he came back just a while back.”

John looks around to see nobody but the two of them.

“I, thought I saw him.”

“John, are you alright? I should call an ambulance.”

The tearful eyes of Mrs. Hudson were looking around, probably for John’s phone. John was about to protest just right before he hears Sherlock’s loud voice.

“John!”

 

John’s back tens from the memory. Or dream. He wasn’t sure.

“John where are-…What, is going on here?”

Mrs. Hudson looks up at Sherlock with a confused expression.

“I. I thought you came back a while back?”

“What?”

Sherlock returns Mrs. Hudson with a confused expression of his own. He looks between John and Mrs. Hudson.

“I just came back from Scotland Yard. I was there the whole day.”

“But. But!”

Mrs. Hudson looks pale now and evermore confused. But she quickly regains her voice back and looks at John and then at Sherlock.

“You have to take him to the hospital Sherlock! I found him unconscious right before you came in.”

“I’m fine Mrs. Hudson. I just got, dizzy from all that pills I’ve been given.”

Sherlock looks at John suspiciously, cataloging everything about John and their flat at the moment. He looks at the nail marks on John’s hand. He sneers at John, his eyes sharp.

“That. Is. _It._ ”

He grabs John, pulls him off the ground, drags him and pushes him down onto his chair.

“You’re going to explain what is going on. _Right. Now._ ”

“Sherlock!”

Mrs. Hudson chides sharply but it never works on Sherlock.

“It surely has nothing to do with your leg or the war. It has something to do with whatever that happened to you during your childhood and I have a feeling that it has to do more with this, moral _thing_ you’re good at that I don’t get.”

“Sherlock!”

John is looking up at the man, unable to stop him.

 

“It is obvious this serial killer case back then, which is still a cold case that I am pretty sure has to do with the fact that the police around that region were sloppier than a useless toddler teething and incompetent when it came to maintaining the simple task of a clear crime scene and storing evidence, has something to do. Is it about the kids who bullied you and your sister that turned out dead? Is it about your schoolmate who was found dead in the playground? Are you trying to tell me that you were somehow involve because seriously John the only thing that all our conversation is coming to, and yes I’ve deduce a whole lot of potential outcome, is two thing. Either you were involved or you know who the perpetrator is. So which one is it John? My deduction tells me that it's the latter but from whatever you’re acting like tells me otherwise and this is frustrating to no end.”

“Sher-Sherlock!”

“ _WHAT_.”

They both turned around to see Mrs. Hudson’s worried eyes looking back and forth John and Sherlock to the Lestrade, who looked unpleased and not wanting to be there, and his unit along with a smug faced Sally and Anderson.

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

The thing is, John knew he wasn’t mad. John knew in his mind that he wasn’t crazy. He knew that everything he saw and experienced at that moment were all real. They were all real. But he also knew that all crazy people would say the same thing. They will claim that all what they experienced were real. All the fear and the cold that surrounded them were real.

John knows that all of this is only visible to him and nobody else. He remembers the old lady who once tried to help him. He remembers her clear eyes, strong and powerful. But then he also remembers how she must have known all of what she could provide were temporary. He remembers the eyes full of power, but also helpless. John wonders if she ever managed to help anybody. He wonders how it must felt like to know what a child was going through but unable to save them. He remembers the girl back at the police station, her eyes full of fear. John remembers how naïve he was. Maybe he was just too young to understand. Maybe he was just protecting his mind for a potential danger, fooling his own mind. Maybe he was just too young to understand the real situation he was in. Maybe there was too much hope in him. Maybe that’s why he didn’t want to see reality; maybe that was why he didn’t want to connect to anything real, to anybody. He didn’t want to feel the reality; he wanted to stay in denial. He wanted out of this.

People can make fun of the characters in a horror film, claiming that they should have run away as far as possible from whatever that was there to hurt him.

The thing people fail to understanding is that there is nowhere to go. People can fool themselves that they could escape the clutches of anything if they run, but the truth is they can’t. Nothing will save them. John wonder if it’s just about luck. Maybe it’s just about faith. Maybe John was meant to die when he was a child. Just like those boys. His friend. Just like Nana. He wonders if that was more of a mercy than the fear he endured over the past few years. He wonders if the fact that he didn’t die gave him Sherlock as a reward. Or maybe it was a punishment. He doesn’t know which one it is.

John looks up at Sherlock who was standing on the edge of the hospital. John wonders if this pain and fear that was ripping everything he is into pieces was a punishment for surviving. Maybe he was being punished for running away from what he was meant to be. John could feel his eyes tearing up from fear.

 

“Sherlock. Please. Don’t.”

“John.”

 

John saw the man he loved jump off and fall. He run but soon was push into the ground by something. A bicycle. John could feel his head pounding, and clutches his fingers on the ground. He pushes his body that was crying from pain, and wondered to his friend. To Sherlock.

 

“Please. _Please._ ”

 

He pushes past the people around the man. John tires to reach for him. He wanted to. He wanted to just hold him. He wanted to hold Sherlock.

 

“Please. Oh god. I’m his friend. Please.”

 

John is a doctor. His first instinct is to look for a pulse. He found none.

 

“Oh god. Sherlock. No. No.”

 

He can’t stay standing. He kneels down as his friend is taken into the hospital. He can’t hold his body any longer. The pain is going through his body. He looks up at the hospital roof, like he could still find Sherlock standing there, looking down at John. He sees nothing.

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


The thing is, John knows that it’s near him. He can see it in the corner of his eyes. He can feel the presence of it when he walks Mrs. Hudson to Sherlock’s grave. He can feel it lingering on his back. Nobody says anything. Not that John expects it.

He puts his hand on the stone. Its cold and smooth surface is something John doesn’t want to feel again. He quickly takes back his hand to his side. He puts back his posture. Because he needs that. He is a doctor but also a soldier. He has to maintain his mind with an order. He has to.

He looks around and sees something standing behind another tombstone near him on the edge of his eyes. John doesn’t say anything. He knows his time is up.

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

**-Now-**

 

“Just, stop that would you.”

 

The man in front of him doesn’t have the smile plastered anymore. He quirks his head to the side. The familiar baritone voice echoes in the room.

 

“I thought you would enjoy this face more.”

 

There is no feeling in the words, but John can’t help it but take it as an insult.

“Are you mocking me?”

 

John turns to stand and face the man. The man quirks his head to the other side. John tries to put his anger away, he tries to breathe slower.

“You enjoyed looking at this man. I thought maybe it would give you pleasure and calm you when I could finally talk to you.”

“I just.”

John starts but tries to notch the volume down. To calm himself.

“I just lost my friend. This isn’t helping. _At all_.”

John looked at the man who was still standing there. The room was getting colder. He could feel his hair on his back standing, prickling.

“What do you want from me? Are you here to kill me?”

John didn’t realize how the man’s height was changing. He was becoming taller. It seemed to happen every time he blinked.

“No.”

The man simply stated.

“Then what. What do you want.”

The man comes closer to John. He was just in front of him, maybe a step or two.

“I want you to come home.”

The tone of the voice was changing. It was getting more statics in it; white noise over the words. John shivered.

“What?”

The man extended his arms. It was long. His fingers were pale and cold. It cupped John’s face. The long thumb was tracing John’s eyelids, to his nose and to his lips.

“I want you to come home.”

The man whispered. John was looking at the man. The voice was no longer Sherlock’s.

“…Home?”

John whispered back. He was now looking up at the man, face now blurred. John doesn’t know why but he can’t focus. He thinks the man nods shortly. He isn’t sure. The thumb is back on his left eyelid, and John can only see from the other now.

 

“Home.”

 

John can feel the man leaning in. He doesn’t know what makes him shut his eye and close the space at the final moment. He feels the lips pressed to his. Or he thinks they were lips. They are icy cold. It's a chaste kiss.

 

His mind recalls a film he once saw when he was a child. It was about a kiss. But he can’t really remember the exact story. He just remembers the princess falling a sleep after getting a kiss from the devil, and never waking up. Eever.

The man pulls away and John opens his eyes slowly; he feels like he is dreaming. He has no face. John can’t take off his eyes. His long fingers were caressing John’s face.

 

 

The pain in his abdominal comes suddenly, knocking John’s breath and onto his knees.

 

He was clutching himself, never felt anything like it before. John doesn’t know what to do but hold tightly. He grunts in pain. His breaths are coming out fast and shallow, quickening. Everything is red. He can’t think straight. It hurts. It hurts. He thinks he screams in pain but the voice slowly turns into a silent one. His throat hurts. Everything hurts. He can feel sweat falling off to his face, and see it fall onto the floor.

It hurts. _It hurts_.

 

John feels like his body is being split into two and his intestines were being removed from him. He felt something being twisted within him and _pulled_.

 

His teeth were clattering and he was shaking from pain. Two black shoes step close enough to come into view.

 

He tries to look up but he can’t. John can feel his mind drifting away; he can feel the pain numbing.

Everything turns black.

 

 

 

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


 

John wakes up on a queen size bed. His head is still pounding but pushes himself up. He looks around. The room is beautiful. It’s decorated well and reminds him of those rooms shown on magazines; beautiful but very impersonal. John carefully looks around the room again. The sunlight is shining in through the white curtain, but the warmth is lacking.

John doesn’t know what to do. He comes closer to the window and looks out. The window faces to a street. The house is surrounded with a beautiful British garden caged by a black gate. The gate itself was set up high; just like a prison. John is looking at the sight, wondering if he was actually just dead and maybe this is what awaits them. It was only then that he hears a small cry. It was coming from somewhere else of the house. John turns to back and slowly opens the door. The corridor is quiet and clean, nothing but stairs and several other doors.

 

The cry gets louder. He realizes that it's a baby. John feels the fear rising up but he swallows it back and quickly goes down the stairs. He follows the sound to the kitchen. The room is white. There is a counter with white stools surrounding it and on it were a small bundle of cloths. There is a child within it. A baby. John felt like a bucket of cold water was splashed on to his face. He quickly goes to the child.

 

He doesn’t know what to do. The child stops crying, and opens its large round eyes; it looks into John’s confused ones. The child smiles up at John and the little icy blue eyes are strikingly familiar.

John wants to cry, he wants to run and cry in agony. He holds it in, and smiles.

“Hi. Hi, love. You okay?”

The child giggles and raises its little chubby hands. John picks the baby up and cooed. The child grabs at John tightly and smiles at the little noises he was making. John is scared to think about the fact that the baby doesn’t have that warmness. John buries his nose into the dark curls.

“How old are you, sweetheart? You seemed like a very little thing to be by yourself, don't you think?”

John looks at the child in his arm and bounced it a little. He realizes it was getting darker. He looks up to see outside the window; the sunny sky was now covered with dark clouds. It’s going to rain, John thinks to himself.

 

 

The man stands over at the corner of the kitchen. The walls make that cracking sound every time the air shifts around him. He still had Sherlock’s appearance and it was still making John’s stomach twists, he wants to throw up.

The child saw the man but was not scared at all, rather ignored the existence of the man after one glance. John holds out his finger for the tiny hands to grab and play.

“Who’s baby is this?”

John turns to see but is soon covered with the color of the suit; he was in front of him.

“Yours.”

John didn’t want to look up at the face. There is no face. There was never a face. There is nothing there.

“I don’t have any kids.”

He can feel the man quirking his head to the side slowly.

“You missed him.”

He doesn’t know where this is going. He doesn’t want to see the faceless creature so he looks down at the child, who was now chewing his fingers.

“Half yours.”

The child giggles when John kisses the top of its head.

 

“Half mine.”

John wants to scream. He bites his cheeks and set his jar tight. _He wants to scream_.

“You liked his face.”

The child was grabbing John’s hand, looking straight into his eyes. John wonders what the pair lacked, but soon remembers where he saw those exact same icy cold colors; it’s the exact same ones the man in front of him had when he was wearing Sherlock’s face.

“His face, nothing more.”

 

John swallows down the rage he was feeling. This was a child, a baby.

 

“Why are you doing this to me.”

 

The thing is, John knows where this is going. He can feel it. He can physically feel the connection to this child and he knows he can’t leave it alone. Ever. The protectiveness is now rolling into his core, and he is planted to the spot where he stands; he has to protect this child from the world, the child needs him. It’s his child, his baby. John is frightened at this feeling that he knows wasn’t there seconds ago. John looks at the child smiling up at him with what he thinks its admiration. He can see his freedom slipping away right in front of him. Something is implanting the feeling of adoration for this child in him. He is scared.

He is terrified that he no longer can escape this man, the creature, and this baby.

 

“It’s my love, for you.”

 

The static voice echoed through him. He is trapped. The panic finally forced him to shiver, and John wants to run. The second his arms that were holding the child started to shake and his breathing quicken, the child’s smile drops and looked up to the man in front of him.

The expression is cold and detached, unnatural to see on a baby’s face.

 

“What’s his name?”

 

John hears himself ask, though he can’t take off his face away from the kids. The child looks away from the man, and smiles back up to him. The baby is happy to get John’s attention back.

 

The man is silent for a moment.

The wall right next to him gets a shallow split from the center to the ceiling.

 

“He wants you to name him.”

The static in the voice tightens on the word “him.”

 

The child looks expectantly at him, smiling sweetly with the vacant icy blue eyes. Looking at his reflection on them, John remembers Abby’s sweet smile, full of life and full of love. He remembers the group of boys and their cruel laughter. He remembers the deadly cold silence when Mr. T came to visit him, the feeling of safety within a void that the silence created. He remembers the powerful bright eyes of the old woman who tried to give him at least a couple of years for happiness before his inevitable capture. He remembers the excited smile of Sherlock when he had a case, and the quietness that was filled with warmth in the flat they shared.

He misses the warmness.

 

He smiles. He can feel the track of tears falling on his face.

“James.”

 

He whispers. The baby giggles and grabs for John. He kisses James black curls and bounces him a little bit.

John can feel the man peaking down to look. He can get a glimpse from the corner of his eyes; there is only sharp tooth and a wide smile. He refuses to see it directly.

 

“You’re one beautiful little thing, aren’t you?”

 

John could hear the rain starting to fall outside. It’s getting chilly.

 

“I’m here. I’m here for you sweet heart. Yes, I am.”

 

James giggles again.

 

“Da-a!”

 

The word strikes him.

 “Yeah. Yeah darling, I’m here. I’m your Dada. I’m going to take care of you.”

He wants to stop saying anything but it just comes out. He feels tears falling from his eyes. John wants to scream. He wants to scream for help. He just wants to scream, scream, scream, scream….

John can hear thunder in the distance, and then a flash of light for a second.

 

“I love you sweet heart. I love you. We’re safe here. W’re home.”

 

 

The rain doesn’t stop and there is nothing but darkness outside.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys sorry for the late update again...though I promise I was working on this one for some time. It was hard for me to sort of wrap it up within this chapter because well I wanted to make sure it was giving out that creepy, hopelessness I wanted, and I was really REALLY trying hard with the writing (re-reading and editing it over and over again..!). 
> 
> Originally the story was going to be in two section with the second part being Johnlock+James (half human half creature....) and the occasional appearance of Slender-Man (the lack of appearance has to do with James..yeah I got a lot of the ideas set in my head about the whole thing) based on sort of between Season 2 and Season 3 of the show.
> 
> I just wanted to thank those who came back to read after my long term hiatus, and all the wonderful comments (which I really want to reply but I feel awful replying after a long ...loong time being off the whole thing...but I really appreciate it and wish to reply to any comments I get on this last chapter. Seriously you guys are too kind to me). I'm not sure if I'm going to write up the second part, mainly because I'm sort of more involved with other fandom right now, but I wish to write small short ones with John and James sometime in the future (because I am going to tell you that this kid was going to be a VERY creepy kid, being half Mr.T and half John's child. And I just love that sort of creepiness. You got to have a creepy child in horror stories).
> 
> Anyways, thank you guys so much for supporting me! I really hope you somehow enjoyed the story.
> 
> I will be now moving to my other account from now on, though I'm not entirely sure if I will post the short ones on the other account or this one (if I ever manage to get around to it).  
> If you want to feel free to talk to me on [tumblr](komru.tumblr.com). See you around!


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